


The Plans of Battle

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Belt kink, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Frottage, Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, Historical Inaccuracy, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Linguistic Inaccuracy, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexual Fantasy, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, season 3 doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 86,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: Milady and Athos missed each other at the Crossroads, but what if she had returned to help Athos and Treville…in every way?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, where do I even begin? OK. This is canon compliant through the end of Season 2, with the exception that Treville and Athos have been in a romantic relationship since Athos joined the Musketeers.
> 
> How did this thing even start? Well, first it was going to be a Milathos one shot (unladylike snort) inspired by this gifset of Milady’s belt. https://vera-dauriac.tumblr.com/post/147118204444/vera-dauriac-automaticdreamlandkid
> 
> Then I saw this gifset by my amazing friend sigurism, and suddenly, I thought, “I want Milady and Treville to do it.” https://vera-dauriac.tumblr.com/post/153904281334
> 
> Then I decided to combine the ideas and I ended up writing something decidedly bigger than I ever intended. And I never would have managed to finish it without the support of several groups of folks who did some serious handholding, listening while I rambled, and offered help with plot, headcanons, and characters. So, thank you Smutty Ladies, Con of Four, and the Milathos Garrison. Also, thank you Loveel-who for the endless wallpaper inspiration edits.
> 
> And extra thanks to the best husband who ever hubbied. He sat down with me and the giant dry erase boards and helped me outline this monster, and then just kept helping and helping and helping. I married so well.
> 
> Oh, two last quick things. I still don’t own these folks, and more’s the pity. 
> 
> And I’ll update when I can, but I’ll attempt at least once a week. And when I update, I’ll probably add more tags, because I never remember everything important. Please let me know if you think I need to add something. I still haven’t quite finished my first draft, but I felt as though the people who have been hearing about this fic since the summer deserved a Christmas/Hanukkah/New Years/Whatever present.

She stood at the side of the road until the sun dipped behind the tree line. It wasn’t dark yet, but she had said sundown. Besides, she knew Athos. If he had wanted to be there, he would have come by now. Once more, he had abandoned her. She should be used to it, but somehow she couldn’t entirely shut out hope where he was concerned. As she felt the tears forming in her eyes, she groaned through clenched teeth, trying to pass off the ugly noise as clearing her throat, which she actually did as she stomped back to her carriage.

“Let’s go,” she ordered her driver, perched in his seat, reins still in his hands.

“Yes, Milady.”

***

There was some sort of commotion happening at the inn where they stopped four hours later, but she didn’t care. She demanded to be shown to a room immediately and have her supper brought up to her. When she dumped far more coins in the innkeeper’s sweaty palm than a bed and a meal in such an underwhelming establishment deserved, he nodded.

Of course, her plan had its flaw. Alone in her room, exhausted but sleepless, she had no distraction from her own thoughts. All she had to keep her warm tonight was her disappointment, the greatest and most painful disappointment of her life. Having your husband hang you for killing a man in self-defense should be worse than the same husband not taking you up on an invitation to run away together, and yet, this hurt so much more. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have anger to overpower the pain this time. But why shouldn’t she be angry at Athos? He had let her go after it had become glaringly obvious that they still loved each other. She should be furious. But in truth, she was sad more than anything. And the difference between the two events was that all of those years ago in Pinon, Athos had hanged a woman he didn’t really know. Today he had rejected her, knowing precisely who she was.

She struggled out of her blue dress, which she had picked just for him, knowing how much he liked her in blue. When she was down to her shift, stockings, and underclothes she crawled into bed. The night was cool, and the thin blanket and sheet did little to warm her, so she eventually worked her warmest cloak out of her bag and draped it over top of herself.

She would need warmer clothes in England to ward off the damp. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem; Treville had given her some money. And unlike when she’d left Paris the last time, she’d had a chance to get to her nest egg. It wasn’t as much as she could wish—her dismissal from the palace had come more suddenly than she had expected and she’d only managed to hide a few of Louis’s gifts. But she had been far more destitute and started over from even lower circumstances in the past.

And yet, nothing had ever felt so hard.

Because this time she had been hopeful, an emotion she thought she had rid herself of long ago. But that kiss in the Cardinal’s closet had brought so much back. The way he had tried to devour her, it was just like it had been all those years before when they had been the young Comte and Comtesse. He had always come to her and started with his mouth, with warm, wet kisses, and then followed with his hands, his grip strong and searching. Everywhere he touched would feel glorious and on fire, nothing ever so delightful as that first moment that his fingertips probed around the outside of her dripping cunt.

Anne couldn’t remember making a conscious decision to slip her hand into her underclothes, but the sharp jolt that went through her body when she brushed her clit let her know that she had done as much. The moan she released was equal parts pleasure and grief. Athos was supposed to be here doing this for her. God, he had always touched her in just the right way, sensing on any given night how much pressure she needed and where. Tonight he would have known it had been so long since someone had cared about her pleasure that he would barely have to touch her. Pressing directly on her clit would be too much, too intense. He would lie beside her and roll over on his side so he could reach her better. His left hand, as dexterous as his right, dipping into her for moisture before moving a single finger to the right side of her clit. He would just brush her, his finger sliding back and forth along the side, gaining in speed and pressure as her body reacted.

She bit her fist to swallow her scream. Pushing harder on the side of her clit, her finger impossibly slick, she kept her orgasm going, tried to keep the fantasy of Athos touching her alive as long as she could. But finally she had to let it end, too sensitive to withstand another second. Her hand fell away and she wept.

***

The next few days proceeded similarly. They would arrive at an inn, and she would pay extra for privacy to avoid the crowds. It dawned on her for about half a second that the inns were decidedly busier than she had ever seen them, but more in the dining rooms, not the sleeping quarters. People were not necessarily staying the night—just eating and hurrying along. But she never asked why. She only cared about two things: her own misery and figuring out what she would do next. And she was finally beginning to focus more on what she would do next and less on her misery.

She would go to England, make her way to London and begin again. Her English was excellent from years spent scamming foreigners and hard study, and a woman of her talents could succeed in any capital in Europe. Part of her recalled how she had said just days before that she didn’t want to be this creature anymore, but what other choice did she have? Every creature had its nature. Did the viper try not to poison its prey? This is who she was, who she needed to be to survive. She had not chosen her nature, but no more could she change it, and she would be damned if she would allow Athos to force her to just give up.

As her focus on the future began to overtake her misery, the anger arrived. Her visions of Athos grew less focused on him gently touching her and more on her not gently touching him. But that image came with problems of its own. Athos wasn’t entirely opposed to her less gentle touch. In fact, decidedly more than merely unopposed. She needed to turn her visions of hate for him from the physical, because every thought of literally striking him brought back memories that throbbed in her underclothes. But her mingled hate and desire were nothing new—they were her old friends these past seven years.

When they reached Le Havre, she could no longer remain buried in her own thoughts and ignore the fuss happening around her. The streets leading to the docks were so filled with men and carts and all sorts of traffic that her carriage couldn’t pass through to get her to the inns near the ships departing for England. She sighed and poked her head out of the window far enough to ask her driver, “Do you think we’ll get through in the next hour? I’m famished.”

“Doubt it, Milady. What, with war started, the harbor was bound to be packed.”

“War?” she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

“Yes, Milady. That’s why the inns have been so busy. Day we left Paris, war was declared with Spain.”

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered under her breath. That’s why Athos hadn’t been at the crossroads. Convincing him to leave his brothers behind for her was always going to be difficult, but it was impossible in the face of war with Spain, because he was Athos. She had been willing to walk away from the work she knew to start a new life, but Athos never would be. Although, hadn’t he tossed aside the Comte de la Fere to become Athos the Musketeer? No, he was willing to start completely anew _because_ of her, but not _with_ her.

So, the question was what could she do now? War or not, he had not been at the crossroads, and she would never forget that pain. Could she face him again? And if she did face him again, what would they do, personally and professionally? With war, she could unquestionably make herself useful, the only detail to decide was who she would be useful to. She could serve France, which, of course, she had done before when she worked for the Cardinal, but with the Cardinal gone and Louis displeased with her and unappreciative of her talents, who could she go to? She could start with Treville. He had paid her in the past, and whatever else he might think of her, he appreciated her talents. He and the Cardinal had far more in common than most people thought. And, for what it would be worth, she and Athos would be unquestionably on the same side. If either of them cared about such things, and she wasn’t terribly sure that she did.

And if Treville didn’t want her? If Athos didn’t want her? Her throat clenched at the very idea. Well, if they did not, England wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were Spain or Austria for that matter. But for now, she would try one last time.

“Back to Paris,” she called up to the driver. “Now.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Aramis had to take this route,” Porthos said. When Athos didn’t respond, Porthos frowned and addressed d’Artagnan. “But if he did, we should have caught up with him by now.”

“Unless we passed him,” d’Artagnan answered, able to hold a conversation like a normal person, unlike Athos. “We haven’t stopped and asked at every inn. And he might have gone somewhere off the main road to some village he’s familiar with.”

“Visiting a farmer’s daughter he knows?” chuckled Porthos.

“Perhaps we should split up?” Athos asked. He had suggested as much the first day and been rebuked by Porthos, who insisted he wasn’t interested in losing any more of his brothers. D’Artagnan had been confused, but Athos understood. Even though Athos had never said as much, Porthos knew he had gone after Anne, but not found her. He took the reins in one hand so he could slip the other into his pocket where he kept her glove. A part of him did want to go after her now, ride to Le Havre, even sail to England, if that was how far he had to go to see her again. But he doubted she would be interested in ever seeing him again. He had abandoned her—he was sure that’s how she would view it—and in a way, he had. He had abandoned her in favor of his duty, and now he realized he didn’t want anything, including his duty, if he couldn’t also have her.

But by the time he had come to that decision he was too late for Anne, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could, however, find Aramis and bring him back to Paris. And he was willing to do anything to make that happen, and splitting up might be the most effective way of accomplishing it. Although Porthos refused to see it that way. Aramis had left. D’Artagnan, while still a Musketeer, had wed, and he would now belong more to Constance than he did to them. And Athos had almost gone off with Anne. Athos well knew Porthos feared being left alone. He would never countenance Athos riding away on his own, possibly never to be seen again.

Porthos’s scowl made this all abundantly clear. Athos nodded. “Or we will continue on as we have begun. Douai isn’t all that far now.”

Porthos grunted. “No, it’s not.”

And so they rode on. Together.

By nightfall, they still had not found Aramis. Athos, all his suggestions now rubbing Porthos wrong, wanted to stop at an inn about an hour before dark, familiar enough with the road ahead to know they would find no better resting place farther on. But Porthos had insisted they go on, so that as the last of the light faded away, they were forced to scramble for a decent campsite on the roadside.

Gathered around a small fire, d’Artagnan cooked a pot of soup, consisting of smoked fish and vegetables they had bought at the inn where they’d spent the previous night. Porthos tended the horses, a chore Athos had offered to help with, but once more Porthos refused him. Athos spread bed rolls and then just sat with his thoughts.

And he hated his thoughts. France was at war with Spain and here he was chasing after a single sharpshooter with two of his best men, a not terribly auspicious start to his captaincy of the Musketeers. He should be back at Paris, in the garrison, working on plans for how the Musketeers could best support the war effort Treville would direct. And if he were back in Paris, instead of sleeping on the hard ground, he could be curled up in a soft bed with Treville.

Desperately, Athos wanted Anne back. His thoughts turned to that fact more than any other since he’d ridden out of Paris. But that was so unlikely. She had promised he would never see her again if he failed to meet her at the crossroads, and if nothing else, Anne kept her promises. The only thing he could possibly do without Anne was what he had done without her for years—find solace with Treville. Now that Treville would be living at the palace, Athos wondered if those loving arms would be out of reach, too. When Athos had arrived at the garrison seven years ago, he would have been utterly lost without Treville. It had never been a formal relationship—not that it could be, with two men, and one the other’s superior officer—but even in the way a relationship like theirs could have been formal, it was not. Treville, bless him, was simply always there when Athos needed him.

And what did Athos have now? No Anne, and no Treville, not to mention the crumbling of what he had thought was an unbreakable bond with his brothers.

“What’s troubling you?” d’Artagnan asked. He only glanced up briefly from his pot, for which Athos was grateful. “It’s more than just Aramis. Porthos knows, and it’s had you two sniping at each other ever since we left Paris.”

“I have not sniped at him once.”

“Fair enough. He’s sniping at you while you roll over and show your belly like a puppy, which is worse. Now, what the hell is going on?”

Athos sighed. Then he opened his mouth to try and speak, but closed it again, not knowing how he could possibly explain. Of all his brothers, d’Artagnan was least disposed to Anne, not that Athos blamed him at all. Finally, he decided on, “You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t?” d’Artagnan said, stirring the soup. “I seem to recall hearing myself ask. An odd thing for me to do if I don’t want to know.”

“It’s about _her_ ,” Porthos said. He’d come up behind Athos so quietly, he hadn’t heard the approach, but what he did hear now was compassion in Porthos’s voice. Athos couldn’t decide if this was an improvement on sniping or ever so much worse. Porthos rested a hand on Athos’s shoulder and settled down on the ground beside him. “While you were busy with your lovely bride, he was off looking for….” Porthos paused and cleared his throat. “His wife. I didn’t ask what happened, but I could tell it wasn’t good.”

“You went after Milady?” d’Artagnan asked, the incredulousness impossible to miss in his tone. “I know she helped, but that was only because it was in her own interest. You can’t trust her, Athos. If she’s gone, be glad of it.”

Porthos squeezed Athos’s shoulder, which was a kindness too far. He dropped his head into his hands. “It’s not that simple. But don’t worry. She is gone. We will never see her again.”

“Are you sure?” Porthos asked, not unkindly.

“Yes, I…I was supposed to meet her, but I didn’t make it in time. She said if I wasn’t there, I would never see her again. I do not doubt her sincerity.”

“I’m sorry this hurts you, Athos, but trust me, this is good news.” D’Artagnan came over to Athos’s other side and slapped his back. “You’ll be better off without her. We’ll take care of you. And once we have Aramis back, he will amuse you with his wild tales until you don’t even remember her name.”

“Speaking of which,” Porthos said, “Sorry for being an ass about every suggestion you make. If you want to split up tomorrow, we can. I’ll ride over to the western road, and—”

“No,” said Athos. “We’ll ride together.”

***

They did ride together, all the way to Douai. They had been forced to pay some bribes at the border, Douai technically being in Spanish territory, but they were allowed to travel to the monastery. There they found Aramis, who had arrived almost two full days before them.

“I was afraid if I stopped, I would turn around,” Aramis said as they sat together at a table in the monastery’s kitchen. “I made my vow to God, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to break it and return to the garrison.”

“Well, that’s fortunate,” Porthos said after a deep drink of the excellent ale the brothers provided them. “Because we’re here to take you back to the garrison.”

“But my vow.” Aramis hung his head and shook it. “I must make my soul right with God.”

“If I may.” An elderly monk smiled kindly as he approached from the door leading back to the courtyard where Athos could hear the brothers tending their horses. “I am Abbe Crispin. I came as soon as I heard we had been blessed with more Musketeer visitors.”

“I apologize if we are being a nuisance,” Athos said, not wishing to cause the kind abbe nor his brothers any trouble.

“I am most sincere in calling your visit a blessing.” The abbe sat on the bench next to Aramis at the table, wrapping his wrinkled, knotted hand around Aramis’s. “If I had not known this beautiful soul had friends God wished for him to be with, I would not have been able to turn him away. And as sincere as I see his heart is in committing to the life of a monk, I can also see it is not the life for him.”

“But Abbe Crispin—“ Aramis began.

“No, my child. You must listen to me. You wish to serve God with all your heart, mind, and soul. You wish to commit your life and your body to doing His works, and for this I commend you. Aramis, you are as committed a man as any I have ever met. It was obvious the moment you rode through our gate.” The abbe paused to smile and squeeze Aramis’s hand. Aramis bowed his head in what looked like…bashfulness. “But a man need not become a monk to commit his life to Christ. Your brothers-in-arms have ridden all this way because they need you. Is this not true?”

The abbe addressed this question to Athos, but it was Porthos who answered. “That’s exactly right.”

Abbe Crispin beamed at Porthos and then back at Aramis. “These brothers need you more than the brothers of the monastery.” Aramis opened his mouth to protest, but a simple shake of the abbe’s head silenced him. “The fact you came shows your love for our Lord. Let that be your penance for the sins you have committed. Go serve God as the soldier he intended you to be with a clean heart and my blessing.” Raising his right hand, Abbe Crispin made the sign of the cross over Aramis. “ _In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti_.”

Everyone in the room but Athos muttered, “Amen.” Although Athos did silently thank God for giving him back one of the people he had feared lost to him.


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean Athos isn’t here?”

The trembling recruit refused to make eye contact with her, much preferring the patch of ground just to her right. She despaired for the future of France if men like this were destined to become Musketeers. “The captain is gone, ma’am. He didn’t say when he would return.”

She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her enough that she wouldn’t slap the boy. Did he not even know who his commanding officer was? “Not Treville. Athos. Where is Athos?”

“Athos is the Captain, ma’am. Captain Treville, that is, Minister Treville, is the, um, Minister now, and the Captain, that would be Athos, got promoted.”

And that, at last, made sense, in spite of the circuitous grammar. Although it still didn’t help her find Athos. The again, Treville would be the one making the decisions, so she really ought to see him instead anyway.  And that way the discussion wouldn’t be clouded by emotion. “Where is Minister Treville, then?”

“At the palace, I suppose.”

She took a deep breath again. The boy had done all he could, she imagined. And boys like this were the thin line between her and Spanish overlords. Truly, God help France. She didn’t know that even her talents would be enough.

***

Treville settled in behind his desk. A week on, and it still felt not just uncomfortable, but wrong. He didn’t belong here at the palace, advising the king. He belonged at the garrison, commanding soldiers directly, not sitting in a comfortable chair at the palace, still, frankly, unsure who he outranked and could command, in a new blue uniform with a silly medal around his neck. From his vantage point at the garrison, he had always known he didn’t understand the workings of court, but in a way that almost made him feel like an insider despite his ignorance. Now that he never left the Louvre, he realized his ignorance was literal and complete.

When he thought of the problems already plaguing him after only a week as Minster of War, he didn’t know that he could navigate them alone without the aid of someone more knowledgeable. And less scrupulous, if he were being honest. Savoy had certainly been enough to show him that his orders would not always be ones he would understand or agree with, but being Minister of War was different. It was no longer a matter of carrying out orders he did not believe in, but devising and giving them.

And he had no one but himself to blame for this. He had told the king the first time he offered to make him a Minister that he was no politician. Simply because Treville had accepted this time did not make that less true. Already he was being assaulted on multiple fronts. The Comte de la Garmeaux had been in his office every day complaining about how vulnerable his lands were to Spanish attack. King Louis’s initial reaction when Treville spoke to him about the problem was that Garmeaux should defend his own lands. Treville had tried to politely point out that the days of a local noble holding out against the forces of a king were long over, but King Louis had scoffed. Treville was now trying to explain to the comte that donations to the royal treasury would help procure the king’s aid. It wasn’t going well, though, and Treville was about to suggest Garmeaux hire foreign mercenaries. Garmeaux was right—his lands were likely on the Spanish invasion trail if they came for Paris, but his lands were not as important as other places on that path. If Garmeaux wanted protection, he would have to pay.

And then there was Lefévre, head of the blacksmiths’ guild. While Treville was trying desperately to get money out of the likes of Garmeaux, Lefévre wanted a king’s ransom from the king himself. Of course every smith and armorer working for the crown or the army was already working as many hours as they could stay awake. The palace (meaning Treville) was attempting to coerce every man with the slightest talent working metal to turn his efforts to war. But the prices Lefévre wanted for the men of this craft bordered on treason. Yet if enough Parisian metalworkers decided to participate in this particular treason, the war would be lost.

And this didn’t even cover the random men at court with motives Treville would not have wanted to guess, ranging from the Marquis de Beauchene to the Chevalier Romilly to Vicomte Paquet to name a few. All these men appeared loyal enough, and yet they seemed too helpful, too interested, too…something Treville did not like. But he would need to get past this and learn to work with men he didn’t instantly like if he were to be the Minster of War that King Louis, and France, needed.

What he wouldn’t give to be back at the garrison! He had rarely been happier than when he had been sitting in his office, seeing to the proper running of things for the sake of his men. If he had loved anything more, it had been the opportunities to ride out with his fellow Musketeers. He had loved being an active soldier and going on missions with his brothers in his youth. And yet, there was something different and even more special about having only the rare chance to do it now and again with the men he had brought up through the regiment. Going into battle with the friends of his youth had been thrilling in a way that only the most dire situations could be. But a simple mission alongside Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan could not be eclipsed.

Frankly, being in the same room with Athos could not be bettered. If Treville were listing days he would never forget, there would be perhaps a dozen, and one of the few that did not include someone dying was the day Athos had walked into the garrison looking to become a Musketeer. Treville had known his father slightly from the wars of Henry IV, but he had never before met this handsome young nobleman who was the worse for drink. Normally, Treville would have pitched out any many who showed up looking to join the Musketeers who was as drunk as Athos had been. Mildly tipsy was entirely acceptable. Some men required a bit of extra courage, and Treville wasn’t going to disqualify a man on that front alone. But Athos had been so drunk he wobbled where he stood. Treville had wanted to send him away, but he had also heard of his reputation as a swordsman.

Rather than trying to question Athos about his reasons for wanting to become a Musketeer, Treville had pulled his sword. Athos had done the same. In literally less time than it took Treville to blink, he and Athos crossed swords. If anything, Athos’s prowess as a swordsman had been undersold. After a quick spar that required far more of Treville’s concentration than he would have thought possible with a man so drunk, he had taken his newest recruit to a room and thrown him in bed. The next morning, Treville had returned with a bucket of cold water and told him to stick his head in it. Once Athos was awake enough to have a conversation, Treville asked him if he was sure that he wanted to be a Musketeer. When Athos assured him he did, Treville had made it official.

It hadn’t taken long to see that Athos needed more from him. In the past, Treville had been careful about his involvement with the men under him. But he could tell that Athos needed him. And if he were being honest, he might need Athos a little bit, as well. Treville didn’t think becoming Minister of War would change that, but what could he do now?

He rested his head on his hand.

***

There were certain guards at the palace Anne could still trust to let her in, and luckily for her, two of them were assigned to the back gate where deliveries were made when she arrived. She smiled and flattered them about how handsome they were (for one of them, it wasn’t a lie), and in return she discovered which office Treville had taken for his own. She knew the office well—it was small with questionable light and had been used by a secretary to someone unimportant (she couldn’t recall who) when she had lived there. It was a practical office, though—close to the garden where Louis liked to walk, had great shelving for the reams of correspondence generated by Louis’s court, and was on the ground floor. And no office was more ill-suited to the magnificence of the Minister of War for France. Of course it was the one Treville had picked.

When she arrived at the office, the door was slightly ajar, and she peeked through the crack between door and hinges rather than going in. Treville sat behind the hulking desk, head in his right hand, looking small in a way she had never imagined he could appear. He had always struck her as a different kind of man than the ones coming up through the ranks today, marked not only by his honor and decency, but by something more. Perhaps it was the turmoil of fighting for Louis when his mother had attempted to claim the throne for herself, but the soldiers who started under Henry IV were hardened and more manly. A dying breed. Perhaps this war with Spain would stiffen the spines of the younger men in the same way, but somehow she couldn’t envision d’Artagnan ever becoming the grizzled man who had seen the worst of the world yet remained unbowed.

And yet, maybe even Treville wasn’t that man. He looked bowed now. Then again, he was no longer a soldier, but a politician. She couldn’t think of a man less right for a political position. He would need help. If she wanted to stay in France, proving to him that he needed her was her best option.

“Are you going to stare all day, or are you going to come in?”

She had no idea how he had spotted her, but he was clearly still observant soldier enough in some regards. “That depends,” she answered, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you have wine, an open purse, and a willingness to take advice?”

Treville snorted. “Advice? From you?”

“Whatever you may have thought of him, the Cardinal performed his duties as First Minister far more capably than anyone within memory. And no one knew his ways quite as well as I do. With Rochefort still not replaced as First Minister, being Minister of War makes you the king’s most important advisor.”

“You speak nothing but the truth, Milady, and yet, you seem to be under the misapprehension that I would want to do things the same way the Cardinal did.”

She finished slipping her way into the room and closed the door behind her. “Let us do away with that particular moniker, if you don’t mind. Besides, we’re old enough friends at this point that I think it would be entirely appropriate for you to call me Anne.”

He smiled that grin of his that said he thought you were full of shit and the fact amused him. She was rather more familiar with it than she cared to be. “You may call me Minister.”

Undaunted by his attempts to make her ill at ease, she plucked off her gloves and went to the sideboard to pour wine. “I will agree that Jean would trip awkwardly off my tongue, but surely we can at least settle on Treville. We’re almost family, don’t you think? You’re like a father to Athos, and I’m his wife.” She turned to him, holding out the glass she had poured. He sat frozen, clearly not willing to accept it. She shrugged and sipped from it herself before moving to the chair on the opposite side of the desk and settling herself in. “We should support each other.”

“If you were truly my daughter-in-law, well, Athos would be a much happier man. And I don’t recall offering you a seat. Or a drink.”

She tipped her glass at him. “But you did invite me in. The rest was implied.”

“Nothing was implied.”

“You want my help whether you realize it or not.”

Treville settled back in his chair, hands folded on his lap. With eyebrows raised, he said, “Isn’t the more typical way to word that ‘You _need_ my help whether you realize it or not’?”

“Oh, you do need it; there’s no denying that. But you want it, too. You want to succeed in this position. Listen to me and your chance of not making a complete muddle out of this vastly improves.”

“I want what’s best for France. My personal success matters only insofar as it helps that end. Concepts that I am sure are completely foreign to you.”

Anne sipped her wine, while offering a shallow nod of agreement, even if she felt the intended insult. She placed the glass on the edge of the desk, then leaned back and folded her own hands, mirroring his posture. “And when you say ‘France,’ what exactly do you mean? The land and the people on it? Louis? The Crown and institution of the monarchy itself? Because I think we both know if it were that last, Aramis and the queen would have been hanged for treason by now.”

“I think you’ve overstayed you welcome.”

She grinned before plucking up her glass again and draining it. “Think about my offer. You’re too good a man to make a good Minister. You’re going to need help with the hard choices. And you’re going to need someone to carry them out. Who else are you going to ask? Athos? I think we both see the unsuitability of that.” She waited a beat, but she knew she would lose her momentum if she sat too long waiting for a reply that wasn’t coming, so she leaned forward, making ready to leave.

But then Treville spoke, and his words were less expected than snow in July. “I heard you, you know. Talking to Athos after you rescued Aramis.”

She froze, the ice in her stomach nailing her to the chair. The things she had said that day…no words had ever come more painfully. It had been like bleeding herself, hoping that cutting herself open would purge the misery from her soul. She still couldn’t believe she had managed to speak those words to Athos. Had she known anyone else was listening, she would have never said a thing. “What of it?” she forced out between clenched teeth.

“I thought you wanted to be a better person.” He grinned that awful, knowing grin at her again. “But you were just performing for Athos like you always do. What happened to leaving for England?”

“I came back when I heard war had been declared.”

“Because you care so deeply for France and wish to serve His Majesty King Louis.”

She knew her mouth was twisting in horrible contortions, but it was the only way she could bite back everything she actually wanted to say to Treville. Why had she thought she could deal with him? She had only accomplished it in the past with Athos’s help and when Treville had no other options. Meagerly, unable to think of a stinging reply or a suitable lie, she spit out the partial truth. “I thought I could help.”

“And I thought you didn’t want to kill without conscience.”

“Because only soldiers can kill _with_ conscience?”

He leaned forward and pinned her down with those icy blue eyes. “I won’t let you hurt Athos again.”

She wanted to explain she would never hurt Athos again, that she loved him, but Treville would never believe her, so why bother. Instead, she walked back to the sideboard and placed her glass next to the decanter. But rather than going directly for the door, she stopped by his chair, leaning against the desk, her dress brushing his leg. He pivoted slightly to smile up at her, but no smile in history had ever been further away from a man’s eyes. She did her best to return the smile, but hers was no more genuine. “Think about my offer. I’ll be in touch.”

***

Just when he had thought he was rid of her! What was Milady doing back here? She had sounded so sincere—the one time he would use that term to describe her words—when she gave Athos that ultimatum. Then again, what could you really make of the sincerity of a person who gave ultimatums?

But Treville wasn’t being entirely fair. She had been sincere other times. The woman could, in fact, open her mouth without lying. It’s just when she chose to speak truth always seemed to coincide with when honesty would prove most painful for others. Like when she warned them the king’s life was in danger and they couldn’t save him without her help; help she admitted she only gave for her own gain. But it had at least been an honest a statement.

Dammit! Why was she here? _Really_ here? What would it profit her to help France? However she might define France. Fuck, why had she asked him what he meant by France? There was no question he had less wish to answer. What he meant by “France” was something he knew intuitively, but don’t ask him to define it. The Bourbons would not be served by Aramis’s death and a scandal, so why did he feel guilty when Milady brought up the truth of the Dauphin’s parentage? She was a woman he could never feel comfortable around, and certainly never trust. Yet was she right? Did he both need and want her help?

Before she entered, he had been thinking that he was not the right man for a job requiring the kinds of decisions he knew he would have to make. He was even less capable of telling others to put their lives in jeopardy for those choices. She could help with making those decisions, could dispassionately weigh options, could even coldly carry them out. And as long as he made it worth her while, she would serve him and France. But what would it mean for Athos, to have her not merely in Paris, but working for the Minister of War? Treville could never hurt Athos, not even for France.

The realization made it hard for him to breathe. He needed Athos, and right now he missed him with a power he had never felt before. Since Athos had come into Treville’s life, making love with Athos had brought him sorely needed comfort. The fact it had also eased Athos’s pain only made it more profound. They both required regular human contact to alleviate their troubles, but what would they do now? Milady had returned, meaning Athos would need Treville more than ever, and Treville’s problems at court meant Treville would want Athos more. Yet, if the captain of the Musketeers and his finest soldier occasionally fucking their troubles away had been awkward to coordinate, what would the Minster of War and the new Captain of the Musketeers do? And how much worse would it be if Athos’s wife were working for Treville?

Sitting in his new office, feeling overwhelmed by it all, knowing how much truth had been in Milady’s talk about his unfitness, all Treville wanted was Athos. Perhaps when he returned from gathering up Aramis, Athos could help him. They would talk, offer each other advice. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would find an isolated corner, a locked door, and there they would press their bodies together, Treville would touch Athos’s warm skin and they would kiss, and finally they would make love. And at the end of it all, their world would make sense once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Athos sent Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan directly back to the garrison when they arrived in Paris. But he did not go with them. Instead, he rode to the palace to report to the Minister of War. At least he told himself he was going there to report to Treville as his commander, not because he felt utterly in need of Treville’s touch.

As if being condemned to serve penance for this lie, Athos could not find Treville when he arrived. Every person he asked told him Treville had just been there, and now Athos could probably find him in another room. And half an hour later when Athos finally caught up with him, he still had to wait. Treville was deep in conversation with several courtiers, some of whom Athos recognized, some of whom he suspected were new to court thanks to the war. Athos did not envy Treville his new position, but there was no man in France he trusted more to oversee the war effort.

At last, Athos caught Treville’s eye over the head of a round and stooped but very energetic man Athos thought might be the Comte de la Garmeaux. Treville made his excuses to all the men, most of whom accepted his exit with equanimity. But the comte called after Treville, “I will speak with the king about this!”

Knowing only Athos would see, Treville rolled his eyes, while Athos did his utmost to confine his smile to the merest twitch of his lips. “Captain, I am glad to see you returned. I will hear your full report in my office.”

“Of course, minister.”

Athos had no idea what office Treville had claimed for himself. Was Louis going to appoint a First Minister as well as a Minister of War? Even if he did not, and Treville became Louis’s highest ranking advisor, Athos could not envision him in the office previously occupied by the Cardinal and Rochefort. And so, when Treville strode past the hallway that would have led to where the previous two First Ministers had concocted their schemes, Athos was not surprised.

“You have brought Aramis back with you, I hope,” Treville asked after they passed a group of ladies doing whatever it was noblewomen did around the palace all day, and had the corridor to themselves.

“We have. And we owe the abbe at the monastery in Douai a great debt. I don’t think Aramis would have listened to our pleas alone.”

“Then I shall send him a handsome donation. What’s the ransom on a penniless sharpshooter, do you think?”

“Ten _sous_. No more.” Athos allowed a smile and Treville chuckled. “Aramis is only invaluable to us. It is best we keep him.”

“Indeed.” Treville stopped at a solid, black door and took a key from his pocket. Athos hadn’t known members of the king’s council to lock their office doors inside the palace. It was how he and Anne had been able to gain access to Rochefort’s office, after all. War, or Treville, had already changed things at the palace.

But some things would never change, Athos’s need for Treville being one of them. As soon as they were through the door, Athos had it slammed closed behind him. Treville turned back at the sound, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking Athos over swiftly from top to bottom, before throwing his body at Athos, pushing him back against the door. When Athos felt Treville’s hand slip around him to relock the door, he reached a trembling hand to Treville’s cheek and pulled him in for a kiss.

There was no space between their bodies now, every inch of Treville pushing against Athos until it hurt. Athos fought back with his tongue, searching Treville’s mouth, and then his hands groping at the strong back he loved so well. Treville, always ready to spar, veritably fucked Athos’s mouth, gripped Athos’s hips with strong hands not allowing them to move an inch. Athos could feel Treville’s growing arousal against his thigh, his own quickly pushing more and more against his pants. He wanted nothing more than to free them both, to take them together in his hand, and work them until he was covered in their sticky spend.

The idea made him moan, something that would typically have Treville redoubling his efforts to strip Athos of both his clothes and his defenses. But today, Treville slowly pulled away, first his mouth and then his body, until eventually even his hands went slack on Athos’s hips. “We need to talk,” Treville said.

Athos could name any number of things he would rather do, but he knew Treville’s tones and needs well enough to understand whatever his desires might be, they were of no concern now. Duty came before pleasure, especially now they were at war. “Of course,” Athos said, forcing himself to stand straighter, even though his back was already flush with the door. “I did not mean to distract you. What are your orders?”

Treville sighed and stepped back far enough that Athos could have left the door, but he did not. He required the solidity behind him to ensure he did not collapse. Treville seemed to understand—he always did understand Athos—and he walked away to lean against the front of his desk while Athos remained unmoving.

“Duval has the orders. At the moment, what needs done is supplying the men, and he is doing that. What we need to talk about isn’t military. Well, I guess it almost could be in its way, but no, it is more personal.”

“This is inappropriate. I understand. A captain and one of his men is improper enough, but the Minster of War and the Captain of the Musketeers is completely unacceptable.”

Treville shook his head. “No, Athos. Well, yes, that is true. But you and I have been completely unacceptable in so many ways since the moment we first touched each other. No. I don't want to talk about us. It’s…your other relationship.”

Athos’s mind raced. What other relationship could Treville possibly mean? He hadn’t been involved with anyone other than Treville since he came to Paris. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Come here.”

Without hesitation, Athos walked into Treville’s welcoming arms, settled into the embrace. 

“She has come back to Paris,” Treville whispered against his ear. Athos made to pull back, to look Treville in the eye to see if what he said was true, but Treville held him tighter, and Athos could not move. “Yes, Athos. Milady, your wife. She is in Paris.”

“That is impossible. She said she was leaving for England. She said I would never see her again.”

Treville ran a hand up and down Athos’s back, and yet Athos did not think anything would calm him. Anne had come back. He had resigned himself to never seeing her again, but he had done that before, hadn’t he? Yet, it made no sense—why would she return to Paris? As though reading his thoughts, Treville said, “She claims she came back because she heard war had been declared.”

This time when Athos pulled back, Treville loosened his grip enough that they could look at one another. “She came back because of the war?”

“That’s what she said. She even offered me her services.” Treville turned his eyes away from Athos before he continued. “She did say one unquestionably true thing—I’m not fit for this position.”

“That’s absolutely _untrue_ ,” Athos said, squeezing Treville’s shoulders, but Treville did not look back at him. “What else happened?”

Treville shrugged. “She said she would be in touch. I warned her not to hurt you, but I doubt it’s possible for her not to hurt you.”

“It’s just as impossible for me not to hurt her again,” Athos sighed, unsure what else could be said on the matter until he had seen her. “Do you know where she’s staying?”

“No. But I’ve no doubt she will find you. Be careful, Athos. I can’t imagine what a relationship with her would be like. And I won’t presume to tell you to stay away from your own wife, who helped save us all. But use caution. And know I will always be here if you should need anything.”

Athos leaned forward, kissing Treville gently on the lips. “I need to return to the garrison. Speaking of men unfit for their duties. Any words of wisdom?”

Treville ran his fingers through Athos’s hair. “Trust your men and your instincts. You were born for this.”

***

“May I come in, minister?”

Treville looked up from his pile of maps and ration charts, none of which he was reading closely. He’d been daydreaming about Athos, specifically about how nice it would be if they’d been sharing a good, hard fuck right now. But Treville needed to straighten up and clear his head, because leaning against his doorframe was a handsome young chevalier he had just met a few days ago. Unlike many of the useless men with the title chevalier lingering around court, this man was intelligent and excellent with a blade. He even seemed a genuine patriot.

“Of course, Chevalier Romilly” Treville answered. “What may I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing, minister,” he answered, walking to the front of Treville’s desk. “The king came to the reception hall not long after you quitted it. He and Garmeaux had rather a long talk before the comte left, and the king was eager to send a message to you, and I volunteered.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Treville said, rising from behind his desk, once more wondering what this man’s particular angle might be. “Should we close the door, or does the entire palace already know and I’m the last to hear it?”

Romilly laughed, showing off even, strong teeth. “You are the last to hear much of it, minister. But his majesty did whisper something in my ear that I certainly have not shared, and no one was close enough to overhear.”

“Then if you will close the door, I will pour us wine.” Agreed in the plan of action, the men performed their duties, and Treville insisted Chevalier Romilly take a seat. “So, begin with what everyone knows. I hate being in the dark.”

“You, minister, are tasked with figuring out how the crown may aid the Comte de la Garmeaux in defending his lands against the Spanish. His majesty promised the comte you would make it a priority.”

Treville sighed. “I’ve already spoken with Garmeaux. And I thought his majesty hoped Garmeaux would help finance his own defense. I thought, in fact, this was already understood by all parties. But such are the ways of life at court. So, what did his majesty whisper in your ear?”

Romilly’s eyebrows shot up. “The king is worried about his mother.”  
  
Marie de Medici. That woman would be a plague to Treville’s peace of mind until the day she died, and then he would not put it past her to haunt him from beyond the grave. What was worse, he should have expected this. She had fled to the Spanish Netherlands, and at last report, she was now living in Brussels. Of course the Spanish would use her against France in this war. The only question was how.

“He sided with Marie when she attempted to extend the Regency,” Treville said with a frown.

“And the rumor is he has remained in touch with her ever since her ouster, even since she fled to Spain. He certainly has friends in Brussels.”

“Has Garmeaux actually said he would contact her in this matter, or is everyone merely worried that he might?”

“He has said nothing.” Romilly paused, but his eyebrow was raised significantly, so Treville waited for him to sip his wine and then continue. “Garmeaux is also good friends with the Duke of Lorraine.”

Treville sighed, already seeing where this was headed. “And the king’s brother, the Duke of Orleans, is with Lorraine.”

Romilly nodded. “His majesty is already worried his brother will side with the Spanish. And even if he does not actively collaborate with Madrid, now would be an especially inconvenient time for the Duke of Orleans and the Duke of Lorraine to begin coalescing strength around themselves, distracting France from her fight against Spain.”

Gaston, Duke of Orleans, and the king’s brother. Also the pettiest, stupidest man Treville had ever had the misfortune to know. “So, Garmeaux is threatening to seek help from Gaston and Lorraine if King Louis does not protect him. With the additional threat of Marie de Medici looming.” Treville shook his head. The king’s brother and Lorraine would be no more fit to offer troops and money to Garmeaux, less so, in fact, but if it became known Garmeaux was in league with Gaston against King Louis, would that prove more useful in deterring the Spanish from attacking him than a hundred cannons? Treville feared it might. “What are your feelings on the matter?” Treville asked, once more wondering where precisely the chevalier came down on the issues facing France. Not that he expected straight and honest answers from ambitious courtiers.

Romilly hesitated as though he were trying to figure out some way to avoid answering Treville’s question, which was as interesting to Treville as any answer. But after he finished his glass of wine, Romilly produced a credible enough smile. “This may come as a surprise, but I know Gaston rather well.”

It was a surprise, and Treville raised an eyebrow in response. “There are not many people left at court who can make that claim.”

“No, there are not. And those of us who can say it are not advancing very quickly.” Romilly’s smile was now more of a smirk, and Treville got up to refill their glasses as the chevalier continued. “We shared a tutor, Janvier. This used to be his office, in fact.” Romilly let his eyes wander the room as though hoping to find evidence of his old teacher. “He was more than a mere tutor to me, but a mentor. Because he taught Gaston, Louis was immediately suspicious of him. So, not long after Gaston fell out of Louis’s good graces, Janvier was dismissed from court, along with many of his pupils. And those of us who have remained, no matter how enthusiastically loyal we prove ourselves, are always treated with circumspection.” The smirk had faded to a bitter grimace. “The amusing thing is, Gaston and I never got on at all. But coupling my association with Janvier with my modest lineage, and I must be twice as eager and helpful in order to maintain my table scraps at court.”

“You could leave court,” Treville said, touched by the chevalier’s story. His years with the Musketeers, with men like Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, had taught him hard work and talent should lead to advancement and be rewarded. But this was Paris and the court of Louis XIII, and some things were unlikely. “You’re intelligent. You have some means and rank. You could make a success somewhere other than Paris.”

Romilly chuckled. “But I do adore Paris. No, minister, I have not given up hope yet.” Setting down his wine glass on the edge of Treville’s desk, he rose to leave. “So, what do you intend to do about Garmeaux?”

Treville barked a dry laugh, caught off guard at this return to the original topic. “I’ve no idea. But tell his majesty I’m working on it. I’m sure it will eventually be true.”


	5. Chapter 5

It didn’t take much digging around the garrison once she knew which Musketeers and recruits were complete idiots (most of them) and which had a few wits about them (exactly two men) to find out where Athos had gone. Aramis, being Aramis, had resigned his commission and ridden off before war had been declared and Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan had taken off after him. The fact Athos had chased after Aramis instead of her when he was the new captain and shouldn’t have been riding after anyone didn’t hurt too much. Unless a soul-crushing pain she didn’t think she would ever get over constituted too much.

But she had come all the way back to Paris after she had already reached Le Havre, after she had vowed that she was leaving for good and that Athos would never see her again, and dammit, she hadn’t come back for nothing. They would be man and wife again. She didn’t know how exactly that would work. God only knew they weren’t exactly a typical married couple, and a standard married life would never be in the cards for them. Even in the blissful days in Pinon before Thomas had brought it all crashing down around them, they hadn’t truly been a normal married couple. Life had, in fact, been so good, so idyllic, it hadn’t been real. Husbands and wives didn’t romp through the tall grass, laughing and making love.

The memory made parts of her throb she tried not to think about. She hadn’t been lacking in sex since Athos “killed” her all those years ago, but her life had been complete devoid of love, and frankly, just as lacking in _good_ sex. She’d tried repeatedly to tell her body to stop wanting, but anytime she envisioned Athos’s face between her thighs, her body acted of its own accord.

Athos had abandon her and chased after Aramis.

This fact repeatedly slapped her over the following two days every time she thought about being with him again, every time she refused to give up and just leave. He didn’t want her. If he had wanted her, he would have come to the crossroads. Going after Aramis proved that even in a time of war, Athos was willing to leave his post for someone he loved. He just loved Aramis more than he loved her. Part of her couldn’t blame him—Aramis had never tried to kill Athos, for starters. But Aramis had also never made Athos scream his name while overcome with pleasure.

She had spent a lot of time the last few years thinking about the connection between love and good sex. You could have the latter without the former and, sadly, the former without the latter, but did you need both to reach ultimate rapture? She had certainly never had sex comparable to what she’d had with Athos, and she bet he would say the same about her. There were simply things you could do with someone you truly loved that you couldn’t do with the most skillful lover of your acquaintance. If that were not true then when Athos returned with Aramis is tow, she should seduce Aramis, assuming the rumors were true, to satisfy the twitching between her legs. And yet, there was more than mere talent behind true satisfaction. She wanted Athos, and only he could provide all she needed.

Thanks to gossip learned from one of the two competent men, she knew Athos was due to return that night. Since her arrival back in Paris, she had taken rooms in the cheapest building she could find that wasn’t positively shabby. It meant she had a window with a shutter she could open and close at will, and she threw it open now as she dug through the wardrobe trying to select the perfect attire.

There was the blue dress she had worn to the crossroads. But that was tainted now. He had certainly found the green and black attractive enough the night they hid in the Cardinal’s secret cabinet. But he had always liked her in blue, and if she was intending to surprise him in his quarters at the garrison with a very specific intention in mind, she should wear something blue and easy to remove.

She had a simple powder blue dress meant to be worn with a blouse underneath. There wasn’t much tailoring to it, so she could wear it with a loose corset she laced herself in the front. For a bit of shape, she could include her belt, knowing Athos would particularly appreciate that touch. She picked up the belt, the black leather still polished and the gold trim clean, and smacked it against her palm. Yes. Athos deserved to find out just what happened when he abandon her.

It took mere moments to slip into an indigo blouse over a loose corset, then dark blue stockings and the black boots that were easiest to get off. The dress was simple enough to pull over her head, and the belt went comfortably around her waist. Her favorite blue cloak matched it all well, and she was ready to set off for Athos’s office at the garrison.

She wasn’t as worried about his reaction as she was the possibility he might have work he would refuse to put off when he returned. But that’s why she decided on his office as opposed to his rooms. He might try to do work, he could attempt to have conversations with his men, but she didn’t doubt her ability to put an end to any of that. Tonight he would fulfill the promise behind that kiss in the cabinet. He had to.

When she reached the garrison the two men who knew what they were doing were nowhere to be found, and she made it to Athos’s office without being stopped or questioned. The room was not exactly the most romantic spot for a reunion, but neither of them could be considered especially romantic, and it would hardly be the oddest place they had ever had sex. The bed was narrow, but they could manage that. The bedding, however, did not look as fresh as one would hope. Digging through a wardrobe, she found clean sheets, but the blanket on the bed would have to do. She set to work, needing some way to pass the time while she waited so as not to lose her mind.

The bed finished, and the sun setting, Athos still did not arrive. She found a broom and swept, the state of dirt under the desk appalling. Athos having a disaster of an office didn’t surprise her, but she had expected better of Treville. Then again, his last few days as Captain of the Musketeers had proved rather busy, and Athos had yet to spend a single day here. On the plus side, Treville left the wine well stocked. She poured herself a glass after she finished using the broom to knock down a few cobwebs in the far corner near the ceiling, and took a seat behind the desk.

As little as a week ago, the idea of being alone in the office of the Captain of the Musketeers would have been delicious. The information she could find, the damning documents, the plans and assignments and orders. She probably should poke around merely as backup in case this reunion did not go as planned. Athos hadn’t come to meet her, after all, and no matter how she tried to explain that away, the truth could be that he didn't wish to be with her. If that were the case, she would be starting from scratch alone. Again. That would be easier with information to sell.

But she had claimed to not want to live her life without conscience. If she meant that, she couldn’t take advantage of this situation. She balled her itchy fingers of one hand into a fist and gripped her wine glass tighter with the other before leaving the desk for the bed. It would be impossible to explain her behavior to Athos should he catch her pawing through his papers. Best to remove herself from the temptation. With a sigh she settled back against the headboard and waited.

She bolted upright at the sound of horses and a commotion outside. Jogging to the window, she peeked out and saw there in the wide open entry of the garrison, Athos dismounting his horse. Her throat clenched as she watched him give orders without breaking stride on his way to the stairs leading to the office. He didn’t look happy. Perhaps now wasn’t the right time and she should go. There would be only one chance. She almost bolted out the door, hoping another day may prove more propitious. But it would be harder now to leave unnoticed than it had been to get in. And how would she explain to Athos why she was sneaking out of his office? No, that would be worse. She had literally made this bed. She would hopefully get to lie in it.

Her legs shaky, she took a few steps back from the window, stopping awkwardly in the middle of the room. She was still holding her glass and she thought to run over to the bedside table and set it down, but the door began to open. Too late. She gripped it tighter, and waited.

Athos finished opening the door and jerked to a halt, leaning against the doorframe as though he might fall under his own weight. She couldn’t really make out his expression under his hat brim, but his body spoke so loudly of surprise she didn’t need to see his face.

“I heard war had been declared when I got to Le Havre,” she started, wondering why she hadn’t spent any of her time waiting trying to figure out what she would say at this moment. “I…I thought perhaps, I should come back.”

He stood in the door, his head tilting back enough that she could see him staring at her, unmoving. She wanted to scream at him to do something, say something, react in _some_ way to her return. But he only looked at her.

Her heart thudded in her chest at least half a dozen times during that pause until she couldn’t possibly stand there, impassive, for another beat. Clenching her jaw, she inhaled sharply through her nose. “And now I see that coming back was not the right choice. So sorry to bother you. I’ll be leaving.”

She dropped her glass on his desk and then headed straight for the door, but when she tried to push past, Athos finally seemed to wake up. He grabbed her arms and pushed her back into the room, kicking the door closed. He pulled her body close to his, and her face dipped under his hat brim so she now saw clearly into his frantic, blue eyes. “You came back. You really came back. To me,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing hers as he spoke.

“If I’d known you’d gone after Aramis instead of me, I wouldn’t have,” she said, still bitter, although her heart wasn’t entirely in it.

The fingers of his right hand entwined her hair, which she had left hanging loose as she knew he preferred, while the other reached into the pocket of his doublet. When his hand emerged, it held a glove. Her glove. The light blue glove she had been wearing the day she left Paris that she couldn’t figure where she'd lost. “You dropped this,” he said. “At the crossroads. I got there as soon as I could, but you were already gone.”

“Athos.”

“Anne.”

“I thought for certain you had abandoned me. That you didn’t care.”

Rather than answering in words, which had always come hard to Athos, he kissed her with a violence that took her breath away. She threw her arms around his neck, her hands roaming, clawing at his shoulders and hair. He hadn’t abandoned her! He did still love her. That kiss in the Cardinal’s cabinet had meant as much to him as it had to her. She couldn’t believe that perhaps, finally, she and Athos could be together again after all these years apart. Knowing the two of them, she did not dare to hope for forever. But tonight, now, she would have him.

“I thought I would never see you again,” he panted, breathlessly between kisses. “I can’t believe you came back when I didn’t get there in time.”

“Perhaps I should teach you a lesson about punctuality,” she said before sticking her tongue as far into his mouth as it would possibly go.

As they kissed, his hands worked their way around her waist. “Perhaps you should. Perhaps what I’ve been lacking is your firm hand to correct me.”

She moaned into his mouth and clawed down his chest, his doublet covered in too many damned buttons. Already she was thinking about the first time she had “corrected” him. It had been obvious then that he needed it, and it was precisely what she had been hoping for today when she put on this belt. When Athos started to unbuckle it, all she could feel was the throbbing between her legs.

But if they were going to do this properly, she needed to get a grip on herself and the situation. She needed to be in control. She smacked Athos’s hands away. “Strip. And please tell me the door locks.”

“Yes,” he panted, while dutifully starting on that endless row of buttons on his doublet. Once she had the door locked and she turned around, she realized the buttons of the pants were even worse.

Anne pulled free her belt and snapped it like a whip at her side. “How long does it take you to get dressed in the morning? That is a ridiculous number of buttons.”

Athos yanked at his pants and buttons flew all around the room. “I’ll never wear anything with buttons again if it displeases you,” he grinned ever so slightly.

She walked right up to him, untying his shirt at the collar while he worked on unlacing his underclothes. “If it were about what pleases me, you would never wear anything at all.” Pushing her lips hard against his, she set to work on all of his damned belts, weapons clattering to the floor.

“I’ll never wear anything in your presence again.”

She bit his lip before flinging his hat toward the bed. “Get your shirt off already.”

He pushed his doublet off and it joined his weapons in a puddle at his feet. In moments, his shirt joined them. His pants and underclothes were ready to go as well; they just needed to get rid of his boots. She pushed him, and he took a step back. She shoved against his chest again, and he went back a few more feet. Another push, this time with just the slightest tweak to one of his nipples, and he staggered all the way back against his desk. She bent over and yanked up one of his feet. Quick and agile as always, he understood what she was doing, and leaned against the desk, allowing her to pull off the first of his boots and socks. The next foot was even easier to free. She let her cloak fall to the floor while he finished stripping himself.

He still had a beautiful body. Trim waist, smooth muscles, and an elegance of movement the finest lady at court would kill for. It had made it so easy for her to decide to con him when they met. She had been utterly shocked when he had then used that body to help her fall so irrevocably in love with him. And that was all before she even focused on his cock. Of a decent length and circumference, it was fine, if unremarkable. Until he got it inside you, of course, and then his extreme grace paid off a hundred fold.

“Turn around,” she ordered, even though she could have spent the rest of the night staring at his body. There was a need between them. He felt as though he needed correction, and she would give it to him. She well remembered the first time she had taken her belt to his backside. It had been teasing until she had seen his cock jump. Then she had done it again, harder, knowing he enjoyed pain in bed. But it had not taken many lashes for her to see it went deeper than the merely physical. She had tried to get him to explain it to her later, but something had stopped him then and every time she had asked after. All she knew for certain was the gratitude he showed after she did it. The way he would make love to her after could not be duplicated in any other way. Intense affection, entirely unmatched. And she loved how she felt, being able to do something for him that clearly meant so much to him, even if she couldn’t understand it.

Athos faced the desk and she took a moment to study him from this equally beautiful angle. The muscles of his back moved gently under the skin as he fidgeted slightly, longing for the sting. The curve from that back to his perfect ass might be even more extraordinary now than it had been when they were first married back in Pinon. Then again, while he had been an active man then, he was a Musketeer now, and the life of a soldier certainly agreed with his physique. It had also left behind a few scars, but that only enhanced his beauty.

“Lean against the desk. Palms flat, arms straight.” Again, he did precisely as told. He always did. He liked instruction, direction. He wanted order and structure. The fact she could give it to him made her wet. She could literally feel herself soaking through her underclothes.

With just her wrist, she slapped the belt across his ass. His head dropped as he let out a long breath. Without sagging or bending his arms, she could still tell that the tension had left his shoulders. That he had started making that mysterious transition. That somehow, she was making him better.

She hit him again, no harder than she had the first time, which wouldn’t have been hard enough to provide a decent punishment for a naughty child. She repeated the stroke two more times, but in quicker succession. Athos, she thought, whimpered, but she couldn’t be certain. And if he had, it certainly would not have been with pain.

Next she brought it down across the middle of his back, but still not terribly hard. His hands flexed on the desk, as if they wanted to clasp something. She could let him move them back, grab the edge of the desk. But she didn’t think he really wanted that. No, what he wanted was more.

Swinging from the shoulder, she brought her belt down with a good crack across his lower back. The slightest grunt escaped Athos and she wanted to make him scream. Then again, if the captain started screaming in his office, they would more than likely be interrupted. Best to do only enough to give Athos what he needed without attracting unwanted attention. 

She put her whole body into the next stroke directly across his ass. The belt left a distinct red mark, but that was nothing compared to what he left on her soul when he simply whispered, “Anne!” Again, she struck him hard on the ass, and he moaned openly with pleasure. She hit him again several times quickly, but his ass was becoming so red she worried about his ability to ride the next day if she did much more. So, with long strokes, she snapped the belt down on his shoulders. All the while he moaned and whimpered the way men usually did when she sucked their cocks.

But then she began moving up and down from shoulders to ass, and soon she thought his whimpers bordered on sobs. She had beaten him before until he cried. He had said afterward that it had been exactly what he needed. Yet, she just couldn’t tonight. She didn’t want to be selfish—God knew she had been that often enough in her life—but she couldn’t have him in tears tonight. He might need that, but she needed an Athos who could make her forget her own pain and sadness and everything else ugly in the world.

Lightly, so as not to risk hitting him in the face, she swung the belt around to his chest. Pressing herself against his back, she gripped the end of the belt dangling on his chest with her left hand. She moved the belt up to his throat and pulled, not hard enough to cut off his air, but at an angle that forced his head back so she could look him in the eye.

“Swear you’ll never abandon me again.”

“I swear it.” His voice was weak and too high. She couldn’t tell if she had gone too far or not far enough.

What she also didn’t know was how far she had pushed herself, not until her voice cracked as she said, “I need you to mean it this time. When you swear it, I need for it to be true.”

“I do mean it. Let me swear it on my knees. I will never abandon you again. I will have to be dead to not be where you need me again.”

The tears in the corners of his eyes meant so much more than kneeling could have. He would never abandon her again. Never. No matter what happened. It had to be true. She had to believe it.

Dropping the belt to the desk, she moved around to his front so that she now stood between him and the desk. From this angle, she could kiss him how she longed to kiss him. And in this position, she could tell him what she wanted. “Get this damned dress off me already.”

They both worked furiously at the buttons, hooks, and laces holding her together. It likely would have taken less time if they had stopped kissing, if his mouth hadn’t trailed down her shoulder once they had the bodice of her dress open enough to bare her skin. But that would be impossible. It had been too long since they had been able to taste each other. His hot mouth, the salt sweat of his skin, she needed them, needed to taste them. She nearly forgot entirely about her desire to have her clothes off, and fought the urge to drop to her knees so she could taste his cock.

But, finally, she was naked. As she stepped out of her shift, he pressed his body tight to hers, pushing her back against the desk. He bent her over backwards so far, she had to release her grip on his neck to steady herself with a hand on the desk top. He also let go of her waist with one hand, while squeezing her tighter with the other. She did not know what he had been reaching for until he yanked her back up, holding both her wrists painfully between his hands.

Panting, her eyes wide, unsure what he intended next, she searched his hungry face. “I need you to promise something as well.” He increased his pressure on her wrists, and now she could feel that he held something in his hands beside hers. “Promise you’ll never leave again.” With the speed of a practiced soldier who had bound prisoners before, he had her belt wrapped around her wrists, pinning them together. “You have no idea how I felt when I thought you had gone away and would never return.” He pulled the belt tighter as he whispered these words in her ear. “I wanted to die when I got to the crossroads and you were gone. Never do that to me again!”

She turned her face, hoping to find his lips, but he turned even farther away, offering her only his neck. She bit it. “I promise. I’ll never leave you again.” Her heart doubled its pace when she realized how utterly and sincerely she meant it. She yanked on the belt to get his attention. He looked at her now, and she dove in for the kiss she absolutely craved.

And he kissed her back. God! But he kissed her back. His tongue was everywhere, his mouth so open, inviting her inside. By the time he began to lead her with the belt to the bed, she could literally feel her wet seeping down her thighs. She needed more of him. Needed all of him. Now.

“Please say you’re going to fuck me now,” she begged as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Fuck me for as long and as hard as you can. Just…fuck me. Please.”

But he grinned back at her, a twinkle in his eyes. “That had been the plan. Although, I’m thinking we might have to do something a little different now that you’ve begged for that.” He pushed her back by the shoulders until she was stretched out on the bed. Then he secured the end of the belt he was still holding to the headboard. She yanked gently. If she had to, she could probably work her way free. But she didn’t want to.

For several long seconds, he stood over her, staring down. Not that she could begrudge him. She had taken her time looking at him earlier, cataloging every curve and ripple of his body. Lying here like this, her arms stretched over her head, tied together at the wrists, with the rest of her simply there on display, she knew she looked appealing. Knew that Athos thought she was beautiful.

He knelt on the bed at her waist, the creak a bit annoying, but she had no doubt she would be able to ignore it. He gazed up and down her body almost as if he was trying to decide where to touch her first. Eventually he chose the bend of her hip, that place that was not quite leg, not quite stomach. Without a thought in her head, she arched her back, struggling up into his touch. “You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, slowly dragging his fingertips a few inches one way before pulling them slowly back the other.

“No one touches me like you,” she whispered, her voice so rough she was surprised she had managed to get the words out.

“No one loves you like I do.” He slipped his hand around to the inside of her thigh, gently pulling her legs apart. When he moved to kneel between them, her entire body tensed, the anticipation nearly enough to make her scream. And if that was how she felt at this moment, what would happen when he actually put his mouth on her? She struggled against her bonds, not in any attempt to get free, but because she could not possibly remain still.

“If you love me, you’ll fucking get to it already. God, I must be soaking your clean sheets by now.”

His eyes intent on her abdomen (or perhaps a bit lower), he brushed the inside of her thigh with the backs of his fingers. “You put on clean sheets? You were that confident?”

“I know you, Athos. I’ll always know you.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Yes, you will, Anne.”

He moved lower to get a better angle and then put his glorious lips on her eager cunt. Again, her body moved to meet him without her conscious decision to do so. But how could she have stopped herself? She had longed for this for years. Even at her angriest and most bitter, even when she wished him dead for what he had done to her, she wanted his head between her legs. She wanted his lips on her lips, his tongue licking her.

She wanted her fingers in his hair, pulling him exactly where she wanted him. She groaned with frustration and excitement at the thought and the feel of him as he eased off and merely _breathed_ on her throbbing clit. “If you don’t make me come soon, I swear to God I will throttle you when I have my hands free.”

He kissed her clit. “I thought you had said something about this lasting for a while.”

She growled as he then licked everywhere between her legs except where she wanted it most. “I’m quite sure I can come twenty times tonight if you’re man enough to make me. But the first time had better be in the next two minutes.”

“I can only deny you for so long,” he said, brushing soft kisses all around her cunt. Then he threw one of her legs over his shoulder to get a better angle and began to please her with the single-minded focus that made him such an extraordinary lover. He licked up the length of her cunt several times, just teasing her clit as he reached the top of each pass. But then he stayed there, moving his tongue across her so fast and so light. She felt her climax building, and she knew he could sense it, too, as he increased the speed and pressure of his tongue.

And as promised, in under two minutes, Anne was fighting to swallow the sounds of her ecstasy, her hips thrusting across his face as he fought to keep his tongue on her and keep her orgasm going. She balled her fists, dug her nails into her hands, feared she would pull his headboard free. It felt perfect. It felt right in a way nothing had felt right in years.

She was laying there, twitching, with her eyes closed as he slid up her body. But she responded when he kissed her and she could taste his love for her. Their bodies moved against each other, mouths already fucking as the rest of them would be soon.

He broke away to kiss her neck, to reach down and brush his thumb across one of her taut nipples. Every part of her was so sensitive she both wanted him to touch and kiss everything and to move as far away from her as possible because she simply couldn’t stand anymore. “I love you,” she said, her words as involuntary as the movements of her body against his.

Rather than speaking, he entered her. Her breath caught, the feeling of him inside her something she had longed for. But she was still so sensitive, she whimpered ready to come again, yet uncertain if she would be completely undone if she did.

“Oh, God, Anne,” he panted in her ear as he thrust, pulling her leg up by the back of her knee. “Oh, God!” He dug his fingers hard into the back of her thigh with one hand, the other, next to her head, propping him up so he didn’t crush her and could get force behind every push deeper inside her. “Anne!”

He spilled inside her, the entire time her name on his lips. She threw her other leg around his back, eager to hold him in some way, to help him through his climax. He thrust and twitched and finally fell limp on top of her. She longed to wrap him in her arms, but in lieu of that, she kissed his hair, over and over, hoping he understood. And of course, he did. He reached up and let her free. She squeezed him hard against her, and he slid his arms beneath her to hold her closer. They kissed each other’s flesh wherever they could get their mouths, until her lips finally found his, and they were lost in the sensation of tongues and skin, sweat and hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you who remember when this was just going to be a one-shot Belt Sex fic, here you go!


	6. Chapter 6

“Would you like a drink?” Athos asked after giving her yet another kiss. Part of him hoped she would say no so he would have an excuse to stay here, pushed against her skin, and kiss her more.

Anne smiled, and even lying here naked that smile made him feel more warm and secure than he had in years. There was always something so intelligent and enchanting about her smile, at least to his susceptible mind, and he could gladly stare at it all day. “Please,” she answered with a contented hum. “I already have a glass on your desk.”

He peeked over his shoulder, and yes, sure enough, there was a glass of wine perched precisely where she said it would be. “Helped yourself, did you?” He pressed one more kiss to her lips, and then with a sigh, rolled out of bed.

“I had to pass the time somehow while I waited for you, and there was only so much cleaning I was willing to do.”

The idea of her cleaning made him grin. Of course, the only time they had lived together had been back at la Fère, and the Comtesse did not do housework. Naturally, he knew that she must have done far more cleaning in her life than any other woman he knew well, yet the idea of her scrubbing a floor seemed absurd. She was a woman of many talents and brains. No, he could not envision it. If…if she was going to stay with him now, he would have to find a maid. He should probably get them rooms somewhere outside of the garrison, in fact. He had never contemplated domestic arrangements before. Perhaps he was rushing things to think of them now. But she had come back. They had made love. Surely this meant she would stay. He had been forgiven.

When he had two glasses poured, he turned around, but only managed a single step toward the bed before he stopped where he stood, nearly dropping both glasses. He had noticed his hat on the bed when they were making love, and his brief thought at the time had been, “Oh, this is where it landed when she pitched it off.” Now it was on her head, tipped down over her eyes, since she was still lying stretched out on her back. She had also taken her belt and hooked it back around her naked waist. The sight made his cock desperately wish it could get hard again already.

“Are you coming back to bed or not?” she drawled lazily from under his hat. “I’m thirsty.”

“Do you have any idea what you look like?” He paused to concentrate on his breathing, but she laughed. “Of course you do,” he said, forcing himself to move again toward the bed. “I thought, given what just transpired, that you were done trying to kill me.”

She took the wine he offered and scooted up to rest her back against the headboard. “There are many kinds of death. From some I will never spare you.”

Perched on the edge of the bed, he leaned in and kissed her once again, this time slow and wet, tasting the promise of more days like this to come. However, it wasn’t that simple. It never would be that simple when he was one of the people involved. He complicated everything by his very existence, and it pained him that at this moment, which should be full of nothing but love and hope, he knew he had to shatter it all.

He slipped away from the kiss and bowed his head. After a long drink from his glass, and then another, he took a deep breath, but he could not look at her. “There’s something I have to tell you. A… discussion we have to have. I don’t feel right putting it off. If I were any kind of a man, we would have talked first.”

“My, but this sounds ominous.” She attempted a chuckle at the end, but he heard the tightness in her voice. He knew she was scared and that it was his fault, and worst of all, he knew that she wasn’t wrong to be scared.

“It is. I’m sorry.”

“Get it over with then,” Anne said, her voice entirely cold now. It reminded him of that day in the alley when he had almost killed her and she had begged him to “do it right this time.”

He took a quick drink and plunged in, saying, “In the years we have been apart, even since I learned you were alive, I have not always been alone.”

“You’ve had other lovers?” she asked, her voice steady, but wary. “As have I, as you well know. I hardly think we need to make a catalogue for each other of our conquests.”

“Not just simply lovers.” 

“Complicated lovers then. I’ve had my share of those as well.”

“Complicated in many ways,” he said with a sigh, wishing he could say the words and get it over with, but he was too much of a coward. Thank God he had his wine to sip awkwardly.

“A relationship?”  
  
“Of sorts,” he nodded.

“Must you equivocate every answer?” she snapped. “Are you in a relationship with someone else at this time?”

“After a fashion.”

“That’s it.” She leaned past him and put her glass on his small bedside table. “I’m at least getting dressed for this.”  
  
“No.” He grabbed her hand with his free one and hurried to set his glass down next to hers. “Please stay and listen. Let me just say this.”

She narrowed her eyes and pursed that gorgeous mouth of hers. “Then fucking well say it and stop screwing around.”

He picked back up his glass and drained it. But then he managed to look her in the eye, and yet he still could not speak. Not half an hour ago, she had promised never to leave him again, but could it be counted as leaving him if he pushed her away? No woman could be expected to understand what he had done. No man could, either, for that matter, aside from the handful of deviants like himself.

“Let me see if I can help, since you refuse to begin,” Anne said. “You occasionally have and continue to have sexual relations with someone you are ashamed to admit you have sexual relations with.”

Athos dropped his head. “Yes.”

“It is one of your brothers-in-arms?”

His head jerked up, shocked that she could land so close to the truth so quickly and not sound disgusted by the mere thought. That fact gave him hope and strength enough to say, “Yes.”

She squeezed the hand he still held, and he thought there might be tears in her eyes. “And you love him.”

“Yes.”

***

When she had begun tracking Athos again from the grave, one of the pieces of information she had heard so many times she assumed it must be true, was that he lived the life of a monk. A drunken, morose monk, but a monk, all the same, at least in matters of celibacy. Of course, if he had been fucking another man that was the sort of thing he would be discreet about. Except buggery in the military was so widely accepted, the rumor that you sought release in a brother soldier’s arms was less significant than buying your clothes from the wrong tailor.

So why hadn’t she known this? Why had she never heard any inkling, not merely of someone he took solace with, but someone he…loved, and had loved for years? Athos loved someone besides her. She had contemplated so many possibilities when it came to him and what he had done while she was dead and what might come of them being together again. What she had never imagined was him in love with another.

She had spoken so many painful words in her life, most of the worst to Athos, but the question she asked next nearly made her sick with grief. “And you do not wish to give him up.”

“I do not,” he answered, speaking directly to the mattress.

“And that leaves me where?”

He suddenly looked up at her. “What?”

“You just promised to never abandon me. I promised you I would never leave. And yet, you now tell me you have another lover you do not intend to give up. So you will have to forgive my confusion if I do not know where that leaves me.”

“He didn’t ask me to give you up.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, how generous. The man you are fucking didn’t ask you to leave your _wife_. That is spectacular.”

“Anne, you don’t understand.”

“I understand quite well,” she said, shoving him out of the way and flinging his hat across the room where it knocked over a sword leaning against the wall. “You want me to give you permission to keep your male lover while I…what? Take care of my own physical and emotional needs?” She pulled her shift over her head, and now with her nakedness covered and Athos still sitting on the bed in nothing, she felt ready to fight him. “Would you like us to work out a schedule? I get you Monday through Wednesday, he has you Thursday through Saturday, and on the seventh day you rest? I didn’t come back for this, Athos.” And at that moment, she was unsure why she had.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, sadness as evident in his tones as outrage was in hers. “The simple fact is I love you both. I do not want to imagine my life without either of you, even though I seem destine to live that life anyway. But you are right—I’m equally unsure how to imagine life with both of you.”

His speech almost moved her. But what did she know of such an abundance of love? She had only ever loved Athos, and she had spent as much time and energy despising him as loving him.

“Well, I guess this is difficult for you then. I’m sure you’re wishing we would all just smile and jump into one big bed together.” Athos jerked his head up to look at her. The surprised hope on his face made her stagger back a step. “You understand I’m not serious.”

“Why not?” he asked, his pleading eyes now locked on hers. “You are the two most important people in my life. I love you both, with all my heart and body. At the very least, I want you two to get along. To enjoy each other’s company and share a mutual respect.”

She snorted at this last, but the noise covered a deeper uncomfortableness. Right now, she and Athos may be arguing, her heart might be breaking, but she wanted to be with him more than she wanted to live. Could she join Athos and his lover in bed? Could she do that in order to keep him in her life?

She needed to know more before she could decide anything. She needed to know who it was. Her thought from earlier that she didn’t know why he would run after Aramis when he had never made him scream in bed came back to her. “Is it Aramis?” she asked, uncertain if she wanted it to be true or not. He was handsome and reputedly a good lover, and yet she had never liked him. She may have rescued him from the palace dungeon, but that had been for Athos. The bastard hadn’t even said, “Thank you.”

“No. Why would you think it was Aramis?”

“You chased him all the way to Douai instead of following me to Le Havre. It seemed a reasonable guess.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again after I didn’t make it to the crossroads. That’s why I went after Aramis.”

She nodded, relieved, but that sensation was short lived. “Don’t tell me it’s d’Artagnan, because I can promise you that will never work.”

“It is not d’Artagnan.”

With a deep breath, she realized it must be Porthos then. Porthos wouldn’t be so bad. He was handsome, and they shared a background few people who lived to adulthood managed to escape. They had never spoken much, but perhaps they would get along. Could she at least try with Porthos? For Athos’s sake. Then again, perhaps she should revisit the assigned days of the weeks scheme. Sharing Athos might be easier if she didn’t have to be there when it happened. He said he loved them both, but how could this not be humiliating for her? But she had suffered worse in her life than mere humiliation. The question was what she would suffer to keep Athos in her life, because she knew she could not let him go.

“It’s Treville,” he said.

It took a moment for it to register that he had spoken and that he had said those words. Treville. Athos’s lover was Treville. Not Porthos, who she had almost resigned herself to, but the Minister of War and Athos’s commander. That would explain what he had meant by many layers of complexity. But it meant something else to her.

She would have a hard time making it in Paris, even as the wife of the Captain of the Musketeers, given her varied history. Treville, however, could smooth the way for her. And she already wanted him to employ her—pay her and allow her to gather information for a rainy day if this all went to hell on her again. And it wouldn’t be terrible. Hadn’t she just been thinking the other day he was handsome? He was attractive and virile, in addition to being intelligent and potentially useful to her. And looking at Athos’s pleading face, she saw that if she could make this work with Treville, it would mean the world to Athos.

But Athos hadn’t come to the crossroads. She still hated him for that.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Say something.”

She tightened her jaw and walked over to stand in front of him, hovering over him as he shivered naked. “Are you sure you want that, Athos? All three of us in one bed. Are you sure you want the two of us not just fucking you together, but do you want to fuck me with Treville? Do you want me to help you fuck him?” She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Do you want to watch Treville and I fuck each other? Do you really want all that?”

His breathing was ragged, and she peered at his lap—he was getting hard again. So, at least here and now, in theory, the idea didn’t upset him. In fact, the opposite. If she wanted to be with him, this was one way to do it. And getting closer to Treville would be helpful to her personally. In the past she had faked more in bed than she would likely have to fake with him. This would be good for her on several fronts, and God knew she had learned to keep her options open. She nodded. “Alright then. We’ll see what Treville has to say.”


	7. Chapter 7

Treville rubbed his aching jaw. He really needed to stop clenching it so hard, but the situation was ridiculous. And yet he’d be damned if he knew how to fix the problem permanently.

“Ten thousand gold is simply not enough,” Lefévre said. “If you want the arms this month, we’ll need double that.”

Treville lifted his chin from his hand, peering at the head of the blacksmiths’ guild across the desk. How had things just managed to get so much worse? “Double? That’s simply not possible.”

“Then your arms will not be possible.” Lefévre looked down his long, crooked nose at Treville. It had clearly been broken at least once. Treville longed to do it at least once more. But he could no longer be as direct as he had once been. He would have to try something else.

“I look forward to hearing the stories,” Treville said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his stomach.

“Stories?”

“Mm. Of you explaining to your brother blacksmiths how you were offered money for work, and yet walked away with no money or work.”

“France is at war. You need the arms. There is no way you can let me leave here without an arrangement.”

“I can’t?” Treville raised an eyebrow and waited. Lefévre was an excellent negotiator and all-around slimy bastard. Eventually, Treville would have to make some concessions, but it would _not_ be double. The Crown really couldn’t afford that. Not that King Louis had ten thousand to spare, either. He needed money badly. If they didn’t receive word from the king’s sister in England soon about a loan, they would have to try a bank. Most likely a Dutch bank not completely under Spanish control, if they could find one.

But one of the few advantages Treville did have on Lefévre was a will stronger than the metal the blacksmith pounded for a living. So he managed to wait out Lefévre, who finally sighed, exasperated. “You need me, Minister. It is that simple.”

“We need steel and iron. You aren’t the only man who can speak for the men who work it. What if I throw you in prison for treason? For refusing to help his majesty defend France in a time of war? I bet the next head of your guild will be thrilled with less than you're demanding.” Treville felt uncomfortable making the threat. It had somehow been more honest back in his Musketeer days when they threatened a man with fists and blades to gain his compliance. But this was his life now, he supposed.

Lefévre puckered his thin lips together. “I will talk to the others. But the end of the month is impossible at that price. We’ll need to hire more men, and they require wages. And a rush on the supplies we’ll need in the quantity you ask for, well.” He shrugged.

Someone knocked on Treville’s office door. “Do your best.” He stood and held his hand across the desk. Lefévre took it while Treville called, “Come in.” It was Athos, and Treville smiled. But then Milady stepped from behind Athos, and his jaw ached more than ever.

“We can come back later if you are busy,” Athos said, glancing at Lefévre, who was swinging his cloak around his shoulders.

“I was just leaving,” Lefévre answered with a distasteful air that did nothing to lessen Treville’s urge to punch him in the nose.

As Lefévre pushed past Athos and bowed to Milady, Treville said, “Will it take long? I have another meeting I’m supposed to be at already.”

Athos glanced at Milady, who dropped her eyes to the floor without comment. Treville was hating this more every second. Athos asked, “Could we all get together later? Tonight after supper, if you have no other plans.”

“I do not. Come to my rooms. Here. I’m in this wing, second floor, next to the last on the right. It’s confusing, but—”

“I know where you mean,” Milady said. “We’ll be there.”

***

Treville hurried every meeting he could that afternoon and made his excuses to the king who invited his council to eat with him and the queen. He wanted to be ready and waiting for whatever Athos and Milady were bringing him. He suspected that Athos wanted Treville to take Milady up on her offer to work for him. Although they had barely spoken or looked at each other when they stood at his door, Treville had no doubts they had patched things up. However it was those two fixed their problems. He should probably be happy for them.

But he contemplated what having Milady in their lives regularly might be like. She had been helpful in the past. Without her, they never would have destroyed Rochefort or saved Aramis and the queen. The woman was unquestionably a useful ally. But she had also been a fearsome foe, and he did not know that he could trust her not to become that again.

One school of thought was to keep your enemies close. It wasn’t a bad philosophy as far as those things went, but nearness also made it so much easier to end up with a knife between the ribs. Normally, Treville would ask Athos’s opinion on how to handle someone they could not be certain of. But Athos would be the worst person to ask in this case.

When they knocked on his door, he was ready. In his sitting room, he had arranged three chairs close together so that they could whisper. In the palace, the doors and walls might be thick, but they still had ears. And he had wine and glasses ready, assuming they would need a drink to get through this. He knew he would.

“Hello,” he nodded when he opened the door to admit them. Athos looked more put together than he had that afternoon. He had his uniform properly buttoned up, and when he removed his hat, it appeared as though he might have run a comb through his hair. Treville longed to get his fingers in it and muss it up the way he loved. But Athos was here with his wife. His wife. Treville might never touch Athos’s hair again.

With a vaguely sick feeling, Treville poured them all wine and passed glasses around. “Please, sit.”

The awkwardness caused Treville to shift in his chair, and he realized he had his left leg spread too far when kicked Milady’s boot. “Sorry,” he said, sitting up a bit. “So, what brings you two here? Is it more about your offer? I still haven’t made any decisions.” Which was a lie. Every day since he had seen her in his office, he saw that he understood the workings of Court even less well than he imagined. She was right—he needed her. That fact, however, was not something she needed him to confirm.

Milady smiled that crooked grin of hers that always made Treville envision her chewing on something distasteful. “That’s interesting. Last time we spoke, you indicated you would never say anything but ‘no.’”

Treville swore inwardly. Would this woman ever not have him slightly wrong-footed? “Then why are you here?”

“For several reasons, and that is one of them, actually,” Athos said, squirming in his chair almost as much as Treville just had. Milady, of course, sat calmly, a hint of disdain for both of them, the situation, and life as a whole emanating from her. “Anne, in fact, would like to help with France’s war effort, and I believe that you should accept her offer.”

Treville sighed. He wished Athos had brought this proposal to him alone instead of in front of her. It wasn’t that he was afraid to insult her. Wait. That was exactly what held him back. Whatever else she was now or had been in the past, Treville had witnessed her cruelty and cunning, and he would much rather not antagonize her and end up on the receiving end of her machinations again. But what else could he do here and now? “I hope you will both forgive me for bringing up topics we might all rather forget, but I assume you both appreciate my hesitation in trusting her.”

“No need to apologize to me,” Milady said. “I know exactly what I’ve done. The things Athos and I have done to each other, we have dealt with privately. What I did in the Cardinal’s service, I will never apologize for. I was doing my duty the same as Athos was doing his duty when he followed any order you gave him. What I did upon my return to Paris after the Cardinal’s death….” She trailed off, and her eyes that had been so determined only a moment before, fell. With a twist of her mouth, she looked back up and met Treville’s gaze. “I had nothing. I saw an opportunity with Louis, and I won’t apologize for that, either. I did what I needed to do to survive. And you should be grateful I did, otherwise Rochefort would never have been exposed.”

“You wanted to say something else in there,” Treville said, not blinking. “I’ve conducted enough interrogations to know when someone changes tack halfway through an answer.”

She frowned and looked away from Treville to Athos. When their eyes met, her countenance turned sad. What did she have to feel sad about? Undoubtedly something awful she had done, but neglected to tell Athos. That seemed to be the theme of their relationship. Athos, in his turn, looked frightened.

“I had a hunch about ‘Princess Louisa’ and her escort,” she said rapidly. “The plain truth is, I recognized him as an assassin of repute, and saw that he was armed. I wanted to know what he was doing in Paris, so I followed him as he followed you. I saw him getting ready to shoot you at the artist’s studio. I don’t know if I could have stopped him or warned you in time, but I do know I didn’t even try.” She ended, turning her defiant gaze once more upon Treville.

There was a silence for several seconds. She did not look away from Treville, and he only glanced at Athos briefly to see how he was taking this news. That brief flick of the eyes was all he needed to tell him how much pain this caused Athos.

Finally, Treville took a sip of his wine and broke the silence. “You said, earlier, that you would not apologize for the things you had done. Is this included?”

“No,” she frowned. “For this I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

She relaxed only marginally—her shoulders fell, perhaps, half an inch, and she leaned farther back in her chair, but he guessed she felt extremely relieved. Did she really worry so much about his good opinion? Did she truly want to work for France so badly that she felt the need to win him over?

No. If anything, she loved Athos that much. She loved Athos enough to confess and apologize to him. For the first time since he had met her, Treville thought better of Milady.

“So, in what capacity do you suggest you work for France?” Treville asked. He took another sip of his wine, wondering how long he would have before he regretted making the offer. At the very least, it made Athos sink back with relief.

“Gather information. Spy. Pose as someone else.” She snorted. “Pick pockets. Whatever you need. Offer advice. Simply tell you the things I already know. Anything.”

“Kill?” Treville asked.

She took a drink of her own wine, swirling it around in her mouth before swallowing. “If it’s necessary, yes.”

Having anticipated this moment after finally admitting to himself his need of her, Treville reached in the drawer of the table that held their glasses. He removed a small, but weighty money purse and held it out to her. “Welcome to the employ of the French Crown. There will be more at regular intervals and bonuses for difficult work.”

“You intended to hire me all along?” she asked with eyebrows raised as high as they would go.

Treville looked from her to Athos and back again before answering. Athos appeared pleased and a bit surprised. He had probably expected Treville to argue harder against Milady. Then again, Athos believed him to be competent. “I have always had one fundamental problem with you: your motives. I think I understand what your motive is in this situation, and I find it acceptable.”

“You find me acceptable,” she grinned. “How nice.”

Treville ignored how she twisted his words and plunged ahead. “Now that we have that out of the way, what else did the two of you want to discuss? I believe I was promised several reasons for you visit.” Treville refilled everyone’s glasses as all of the original tension reentered the room. “Well?” he asked when he finished and settled back in his chair.

“Anne knows,” said Athos.

Treville studied Athos’s face, unable to puzzle out what he meant. “I’m sorry. What does she know? I mean, she knows a great deal, for which I’m paying her, but you seem to mean something specific.”

“About your relationship,” she answered.

It took Treville several dumbstruck seconds to understand her meaning. Good God. She really had better be on their side now and have forgiven Athos everything. This woman now had the power to utterly ruin them both if she chose.

Treville tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone entirely dry. “I see.”

“I still love you,” Athos said.

This statement stunned Treville even more completely. He would always love Athos, and the physical longing would never go away. But those were his feelings. Athos had reconciled with his wife. He had even confessed to her, and she had apparently accepted it. What was Athos doing, pushing the issue like this in front of her? If he wanted to say goodbye, surely it would be better done privately. Perhaps they had vowed to maintain openness in their relationship, and this was the first step. What an awful thought.

“Athos, please. You need say no more. You and your wife have decided to resume your marriage, and I am happy for both of you.”

“I’m not sure you understand,” Athos said, but without explaining or even meeting Treville’s eyes.

It was Milady who made it clear a moment later when her long, cool fingers landed on his knee. “Athos is hoping that since you and I are willing to work together, we might be amenable to doing other things together. For his sake.”

Treville watched her fingers curl around his thigh and squeeze. When he checked her face, her expression was frank and direct. This was not some sort of tasteless joke on her part, as confirmed by Athos’s continuing discomfort. “And you agreed to this?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said, running her hand up his thigh. She rose from her chair and perched precariously on the arm of his. “I love Athos, and he loves you.” Her right hand never left his thigh, while her other hand brushed his cheek. Her touch was an intoxicating blend of gentle and purposeful, the effect aided by her heaving breasts so close to his face. God, she was a beautiful woman. But what evils hadn’t she committed? And this would never be best for Athos, no matter what he might think. “We think this would be…best.”

The fact she used the same words he had just been thinking, only for the opposing argument, determined Treville. “No.” He stood up, her hands falling away from his body. He walked behind his chair, hands clutching tightly to the back. “No. I will not consent to this.” He looked straight at Athos. “I love you, but I will not literally get into bed with this woman.”

Milady got up and stood between Treville and Athos, forcing him to look at her. She had that chewed glass expression on her face again, and he wondered if he had ruined, well, everything. His friendship with Athos, her agreement to work for him, and his very existence. “I told him this was a mistake. We’ll be leaving now.”

“I’m sorry, Treville.” Athos stepped out from behind Milady so that Treville could see his pained expression. “I understand this was asking a lot. Too much, in fact. I’m a selfish man. You helped me when I had nothing because of my own crippling pride and misguided sense of justice. For once, I should think more about what you want and need, and not my own unrealistic desires. I just had this hope, and because I love you both, I had to at least ask.”

Athos’s plea made Treville want to change his mind, and yet he could not. As extraordinarily beautiful as she was, Milady could not be trusted. Treville would not attempt to keep Athos away from his wife, but he could not join their relationship. Except, perhaps he should. If he agreed to this proposal, he would keep Athos in his life. Even more importantly, he could keep an eye on Athos, maybe even keep him safe from Milady when she remembered her true nature. Athos arguably needed him more now with Milady’s return than at any other time. And it would not be abhorrent, being in bed with such an exquisite woman.

But no. Treville could not agree. He could not enter into a sexual relationship with someone he so profoundly mistrusted. “I’m sorry,” Treville said. “I mentioned earlier, I question her motives. While I believe I can trust what motivates her to serve France, I do not trust her in my bed.”

She rounded on him, the most hateful look he had ever seen on any face directed at him. “Athos, we’re leaving.” She whipped around, grabbed Athos’s hand, and literally pulled him from Treville’s room.


	8. Chapter 8

Athos knew he should not have pushed his luck. Perhaps good fortune was simply so foreign to him that he did not know what to do with it. He should have been grateful that Anne had returned and left well enough alone, except he could not imagine his life without Treville. His greed had surely cost him Treville, and he had caused Anne so much pain. Instead of spending a second blissful night with his wife, she clung to the edge of his narrow bed, somehow contriving not to touch him even in the extremely limited space. He knew her fury, and he had no one to blame but himself for being on the receiving end of it now. How he would make it up to her, he did not know. Would he ever do anything right where she was concerned? Perhaps they were doomed separately and together.

The next morning after perhaps two or three hours of fitful sleep, Athos crawled out of the bed, attempting not to wake her. He thought he had been successful—she showed no signs off being awake as he dressed—but when he sat down at his desk to watch her, she rolled over, her eyes open and glaring. “What will you be doing today?” she asked.

“I need to go to the palace. See if there are new orders for the regiment.”

“You’re going to meet with Treville, in other words.” Her tone wasn’t precisely angry, but he couldn’t call it neutral, either. Frankly, he didn’t know what to make of it.

“He’s the Minister of War. I am the Captain of the Musketeers. He gives me my orders. You should come with me.”

She scoffed and sat up, leaning against the headboard. All she wore was a thin, white shift. He could see the outline of her beautiful body through it, and he wanted to touch her, hold her and show her how much she meant to him. Yet, the near murderous scowl on her face kept him firmly in his chair. “There’s no one for me to see at the palace. I’ve been lucky avoiding Louis thus far, and there’s no reason to push it when there’s no one there for me to see.”

“You work for Treville now, too,” he said softly, somehow hoping his words would have a different meaning if he did not speak them too loudly.

“I’m sure he no longer expects me to offer him _any_ service.”

“Anne, you can still be of service to France. You _should_ be,” Athos said. “I’m sorry that I…pushed on the other front. Last night's disaster is entirely my fault. But you shouldn’t let my horrible mistakes prevent you from helping in the war.”

“How do you expect me to work with that man?” she asked, pulling on her dress without bothering with the corset. “He does not trust me, even after everything I have done to help and the apologies I have made.”

“Are you saying the Cardinal trusted you?” Her sharp glare confirmed what he knew before he stopped speaking—he had said exactly the wrong thing as usual with her. Changing strategies to one he hoped showed her how much he did love her, he rose and walked to her, but when he brushed her shoulder, she jerked away. “I’m sorry. As always, I never do or say the right thing. But please, come with me and talk to Treville about working for him. France needs you.”

She scowled as she stalked back over to the bed to sit down and pull on her stockings. “I will come with you, but I cannot imagine he will say or do anything to change my mind.”

***

“We _must_ do something about this. Immediately!”

Treville fought not to sigh at the king’s demand. Everything with him was either not important in the least or needed to be seen to that exact second. He supposed being groomed to be absolute monarch from childhood was not a good way to learn proportion. Treville had a feeling this would be a constant battle he would wage with the king for as long as he remained Minister of War.

The king scanned the faces on his council, waiting for one of them to propose a solution to his “immediate” problem. No one spoke. Treville spared a glance for Thibault, the most experienced diplomat at court. As far as Treville was concerned, Marie de Medici was a problem of foreign diplomacy, and if the king desired to know what his exiled mother was doing in Brussels, that was the direction he should be look as well.

And if not Thibault, then Paget. He had served as an ambassador in Madrid before returning to Paris the previous year to take command of the Treasury. And in addition to these two men, there were the six other noblemen on the King's Council. And while Treville didn’t know why some of them were there, they all held the king’s ear and good graces and knew the world well enough to travel in and understand the workings of Brussels society and Marie’s place in it. All of them likely had contacts in the Spanish Netherlands, or would be fit to travel there to assess the situation.

But once again, Treville failed to understand his position, court, and the king.

“I think this is a mission for the Musketeers,” King Louis said.

“What?” Treville’s jaw dropped a bit as he turned his attention to his sovereign. “Your majesty,” he added quickly.

“The Musketeers, Treville. Please keep up. Send your best Musketeers north to check up on…that woman. I want to know if she’s building an army again to help Spain. And make certain it is your very best men. I will know if you send anyone lesser.”

All Treville could do was nod. He would have to send Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan. Leaving who to run the garrison? But the king would object if Treville kept Athos in Paris. So Treville would figure something out. Athos might even have a suggestion of who to leave in charge. They could discuss it over lunch. No, supper. Treville had too many meetings this afternoon again. If they met tonight, they could take their time, deciding who would run the garrison, as well as smoothing over the bad feelings from the night before. He still couldn’t think what else he would have said, but it could have been handled differently. Or maybe he could have just said yes.

Before he had a chance to react, the Comte de la Garmeaux burst into the room. “Your majesty! I must speak to you and the council at once!”

“What is this disturbance?” Louis demanded. “We were just having a most vital discussion. I will not have my council meetings interrupted in this manner. If you have something to say to me, I will be receiving this afternoon, but let me warn you, Garmeaux, behavior like this will lead to you no longer being welcome when I receive.”

“My sincerest apologies, your majesty,” said a good looking young man, scooting into the room behind Garmeaux. “My father is a bit run away with himself.”

“Chevalier de la Garmeaux,” King Louis said with a frown. “When did you arrive in Paris? And how soon will you be leaving and taking your father with you?”

The handsome man, a bit effete looking with his blond curls, now pushed around his father and bowed deeply to the king and nodded courteously to the rest of the council. “I just arrived this morning. And I regret to inform you that I have no home to which I may return if I leave Paris. This is what has my father so excited.”

“His lands have been raided. _Raided_!” the Comte de la Garmeaux screamed, his round cheeks quivering and red. “By the Spanish! Stables burned, horses stolen. I demand the protection of my sovereign lord for my child and myself! My lands are directly next to his. For all I know, my home is now rubble!”

“You will demand nothing of me,” the king scowled. “And if your home is rubble already, then this discussion can most certainly wait until I finish with my council meeting.” Garmeaux opened his mouth to protest, but the king continued on in a firm, loud voice that even Garmeaux dare not interrupt. “You will leave now.” He paused and looked around the table. “But I am not entirely heartless. I will send one of these men with you to hear your story. I do wish to keep informed of the movements of my enemies.”

The king scanned the table and his eye rested on Treville. He sighed, resigning himself to yet another task he didn’t realize fell to the Minister of War, but then Paget stood and bowed to King Louis. “I will be most happy to speak with the comte and the chevalier and report back to your majesty and the council. Gentlemen. If you will come with me.” Paget swept across the floor, still graceful in his 60s in a way Treville hadn’t been at twenty.

Before closing the door, the chevalier turned once more and bowed. “Again, my apologies, you majesty, gentlemen.”

The door closed and the room fell silent for a moment until the king jerked forward in is chair and gasped. “My God,” he said, a delicate hand flying to his mouth. “Do you think Garmeaux knew what we were discussing? Did he time his entrance intentionally to distract me from the plottings of my mother, his old friend?”

All of the men on the council stared at their own reflections in the polished table. At least Treville was reasonably sure that’s what everyone else was doing as well. It never paid to feed the king’s paranoia, especially about his mother. Even if it might well be true, although in this case, Treville didn’t think Garmeaux and Marie were already working together. However, if the comte was speaking the truth, then this was precisely the sort of event that would send Garmeaux straight to Marie to intervene with her Spanish allies.

“Treville,” King Louis snapped, “I want those men riding within the hour. Do you understand?”

Treville gritted his teeth and nodded. “Of course, your majesty.”

***

Everything continued going wrong for Athos when they arrived at the Louvre, notably that Treville was in an emergency council meeting, and Anne was impossibly impatient. Perhaps they should just leave—he could send one of the recruits from the garrison to await word from Treville. God knew the days he had lost chasing down Aramis had put him behind with his actual work. Duval was handling the supplies and other logistical concerns admirably, but certain details required the captain. As far as Anne and Treville, well, perhaps it would be best if that rested for a day before they saw each other again. The way she frowned as she paced back and forth here at the end of the hallway, left him in no doubt that she would not be in any mood to talk to Treville if he emerged anytime soon.

And they were not the only people waiting outside the council room. The walls were lined with others wishing to speak with someone inside, from Chevalier Michelle, who considered himself a firearms expert even though he didn’t know the difference between a cannon and a blunderbuss, to Broder, a hostler Athos knew Treville worked with frequently. There were other courtiers he didn’t know, and he briefly wondered if he should care. Not having to learn the vapid nobles who gathered at court was one of the benefits of renouncing his title. Still, it might not hurt to know who some of these people were, particularly the ones who were looking askance at Anne. And if Athos asked her about these men, perhaps it would give her something to concentrate on besides her frustration.

“Captain. A pleasure to see you again,” said a voice on Athos’s right. Being addressed startled him, and it took him a moment to concentrate on who was speaking to him. The pause, however, gave the wrong impression, it seemed. “Chevalier de Romilly,” the man said. “I wouldn’t remember me, either.”

“No, I remember you quite well. I’ve seen you fence,” said Athos.

Romilly smiled and bowed. “To be remembered by a swordsman of your caliber is extremely flattering.” And then even more to Athos’s surprise, the chevalier turned to Anne and bowed again. “Milady de Winter. It is lovely to see you again.”

Before Anne could formulate her response, a commotion broke out in the hallway near the council room door. Athos stood to see what was happening, but he could make out very little other than a tall, blond man standing before the door, giving a put-upon frown at the guards while someone shorter barked, “I must go in. Out of the way.”

The door flew open, and Athos made to start in that direction, but Romilly said, “I wouldn’t bother. That was the Comte de la Garmeaux and his son. The comte’s approach has a great deal to be desired, but he does have rather significant news the council will wish to hear. Assuming the rumors are true, and one must think they are for a couple of noblemen to burst in on the king in this fashion.”

“Oh?” said Athos, content for the moment at allow the situation inside the council room to play out without his interference. “And what is the rumor?”

“Garmeaux and his son both have estates near Toulouse,” Romilly whispered to Athos and Anne while the rest of the crowd whispered similarly, trying to guess at the reason for this breach of etiquette. “The son’s lands have been raided by the Spanish army.”

Athos was now more ready than ever to run into the council room. Surely Treville would have orders for him, the Spanish so brazenly raiding French estates, but this time it was Anne who stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “And how did you happen upon this rumor?” she asked, sounding a bit jealous to Athos’s ear.

“Ah,” said Romilly, standing up straighter to see over the crowd. “I believe they are coming out now.”

Athos turned back to face the door, and indeed, Garmeaux _pere_ and _fils_ were exiting the council room. They were accompanied by Paget and one of the many young pages kept around for delivering messages. The page was attempting to speak to them, and Athos thought he heard the boy say something about an empty parlor, but the Chevalier de la Garmeaux sneered down at him, “I don’t believe we need the help of a boy to find our way around the Louvre. Go away.”

His sneer disappeared in a flash when he looked up and spotted Romilly. In fact, he smiled broadly and chuckled a bit as he said, “Romilly! A pleasure to see you.” He slapped Romilly on the shoulder, and Athos studied his face, wondering if he seemed like a man who had just lost his home.

“And to see you,” Romilly answered. “Although, not under the circumstances, if what I’ve heard is correct.”

The chevalier sighed as his father and Paget watched anxiously, clearly ready to move along. “Yes, it’s all true. Well, I’m assuming what you’ve heard is the true story of my misfortune. Why don’t you come along with us? This way I don’t have to recount the story for all of Paris—you can help me spread it, since everyone is always dying to hear tales of other people’s woe.”

Romilly frowned, but returned the friendly slap. “I will come and hear.” But before he left, he nodded to Athos and Anne. “Captain. Milady.”

They watched the group leave, and Athos began trying to figure out what this would mean for the war effort and his part in it. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t even feel Anne pulling him around the corner. “What do you make of all of that?” she asked him in a hiss once they were alone in a different hallway.

“It’s a bold move on Spain’s part,” Athos said. “But we’re at war. We can hardly be surprised.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about—“

“Captain! You are here!” Another of the young pages trotted down the hall to where Athos and Anne stood whispering, waving a bit of parchment.

Athos stood straight, and did his best to calmly reply, still not understanding Anne. “Yes. Do you have a message for me?”

“I do, sir,” said the boy, offering the parchment. “From Minister Treville. I was just going to the garrison to give it to you. It’s most urgent, sir.”

Athos nodded and took the parchment, waiting for the boy to turn back before ripping off the seal. It was, indeed, Treville’s hand, which he would know anywhere, even though it was sloppier than usual.

_Athos,_

_His majesty requires the finest Musketeers for an urgent mission. The exiled queen mother currently residing in Brussels has led insurrection against his majesty in the past. As she is now residing in Spanish held territory, and France is in a state of war with Spain, the concern is Marie de Medici will once again raise an army in an attempt to take the throne from King Louis._

_To this end, I order you personally to take Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan north to ascertain the intentions and strength of Marie de Medici. The utmost haste is necessary. You are to leave immediately. Inform Duval that he will command at the garrison in your absence. I will be in contact with him as to what will be required of him. Leave before this morning is out._

_Minister J. Treville_

_—If it is possible, please inform your wife that I hope she remains in Paris while you are gone._

When Athos reached the postscript, he looked up to tell Anne what the message said, only to find her already reading it over his shoulder.

“I can see Louis’s nonsense all over this,” she whispered. “He’s so obsessed about his mother, when he has a dozen closer problems to worry about.”

“Why is Treville sending me? I am the Captain of the Musketeers. I’m needed at the garrison. I’ve already been away too much.”

“Look at the very first sentence,” she said as she jabbed the parchment with her finger. “Louis clearly requested the best Musketeers. Treville has to send you or risk displeasing Louis.”

He looked up at her face—angry, determined, thoughtful—and the last thing he wanted to do was leave her. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.

Her eyes met his, and now he added hungry to the list of emotions on her face. “Come here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a narrow door. She yanked it open, revealing tightly packed brooms and some other cleaning supplies. He gasped with surprise when she pulled him inside and closed the door behind them.

***

After the messenger left, Treville did not rejoin the others at the table. Instead he stood staring out of the window at the garden so full of color and sunlight. To his mind, it was an awful sight. Who cared about flowers and sun when Athos was leaving Paris and he could not go to the garrison to say goodbye? Athos would also be leaving without them discussing what had been said the night before. He hoped Athos would be able to understand and pass along the message to Milady. The chances of anyone seeing the message besides Athos were slim, but he didn’t want to risk being more explicit. He needed Milady to serve as an agent, whatever else had happened between all of them personally.

“Treville, are you planning on coming back to the table with us?” King Louis asked.

Treville pivoted to face the room again, and even took a step toward the table. But then he stopped. “My apologies, your majesty, I must step out for a moment.” So as to prevent anyone from stopping him, Treville waked with sure strides to the door and directly out it.

He couldn’t stay in the meeting. Saying goodbye to Athos was more important. Anything could happen on a mission, and if he let Athos go without a word, Treville would never sleep the entire time he was gone. He’d lost too many friends in war with too many important things left unsaid. He wouldn’t let that happen with Athos.

Treville turned the corner and saw the messenger he’d sent to deliver the message to Athos trotting toward him. “What are you doing here?” Treville asked. “Why aren’t you on your way to the garrison with the message for Captain Athos?”

“He’s here, sir,” the boy answered. “I ran into him just down the next hallway and gave him the message.”

Athos was here at the palace? “Thank you,” Treville said, hurrying by the boy and to the corridor indicated.

He had only taken two steps down the hallway when he saw Milady pull Athos into a closet. He guessed she had something similar on her mind as he did—a burning need to say goodbye to Athos. He should allow them a moment alone. They were man and wife, after all. But he remembered all of the goodbyes he hadn’t said, and he ran down the hallway and opened the door to slip in behind Athos and then close it and the world out behind them.

***

She had just gotten her hand into Athos’s pants when Treville squeezed into the closet with them. Her hand closed tighter around Athos’s stiffening cock, and she wanted to scream at Treville to get out, but the look on Athos’s face stopped her. His expression was…bliss and relief mixed with gratitude. Without a word, Treville slipped his hand to the back of Athos’s head and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

She couldn’t ignore how Athos’s cock grew decidedly harder. And if she were honest, she grew wetter. The little closet didn’t have much light, but there was a tiny vent near the top of the door that allowed in light from the bank of windows across the hall. It was more than enough to see their mouths break apart far enough to admit their searching tongues. They were so fucking gorgeous together.

But dammit, she had brought Athos into this closet to make him spend all over her hand. And she still had every intention of doing so. Even if that meant Treville staying, his mouth locked to her husband’s. Athos was almost completely hard now and she began to work her hand up and down. He moaned into Treville’s mouth, but she knew this time it was because of her.

The kiss ended, and Athos turned back to face her. His eyes were unfocused by pleasure, but he reached up to her face and pulled her into a kiss. As her tongue moved around his mouth, she tried to taste Treville, to find something different there. But it was still Athos as he had always been.

Athos’s pants and underclothes slipped lower. She assumed it was Treville’s doing—he was touching Athos, she could tell—but she didn’t know what he intended. She stroked Athos harder, and he threw his head back onto Treville’s shoulder with a moan. Treville took the opportunity to reach around and slip his middle finger into Athos’s open mouth. Athos’s lips closed around it and sucked while Treville moved his own mouth up and down Athos’s neck. She fought down the pain she felt at how lovely they were, how happy Treville clearly made Athos.

Treville took his finger from Athos’s mouth, in spite of Athos’s attempts to hold onto it with his teeth. But in a moment Treville’s purpose in shoving down Athos’s pants became clear. When Treville pushed his spit-covered finger into Athos, she had to yank Athos’s head down onto her shoulder to muffle his cry of pleasure.

Pressed so close to Athos’s body, she could feel what Treville was doing, knew when he was pushing in deeper and pulling back out. Adjusting her own motion on Athos’s cock to match his, she and Treville held Athos close, focusing their attention on loving him, working him into a frenzy. With Athos’s face buried in her neck, she and Treville had nowhere to look but at one another.

What she saw in his eyes made her ache—with sadness, jealousy, and lust. His love for Athos matched her own. He would never simply bow out of Athos’s life. He would be with them one way or another forever. But could he see the same on her face? Did he look into her eyes and understand that she would never let Athos go again? That they would be holding Athos between them until they were dead?

Treville reached around her back, pulling them all closer together. She breathed unsteadily searching his impossibly blue eyes for some sign. Athos whimpered, and they both knew him well enough to know he was close. Treville surged forward to press his lips against hers. Her mouth opened automatically to let him in. Athos lifted his face from her neck, his hot breath was on her cheek. She realized he must be watching them.

“Oh, God!” Athos said, as he began spending all over her hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished the entire story at this point. I'm hoping to start posting two or three times a week instead of just once. We'll see how it goes. :)

D’Artagnan had wanted to push on for the next town, and Porthos and Aramis seemed indifferent one way or the other, but Athos wanted to get out of the saddle now. Also, he didn’t think he was up to strangers tonight. He might be able to survive the company of his brothers if he put in a little effort, but strangers, never. He had too much racing through his mind and he required quiet.

“This is a good campsite,” Athos announced, leading Roger from the road without waiting for a response from any of the others.

“I’m seriously the only one who likes the idea of a bed?” d’Artagnan asked. “You’re all old men. Sleeping on the ground must be terrible for you.”

“I can sleep soundly wherever God chooses for me to rest my head,” answered Aramis in a cheery voice. In fact, he had been as happy as Athos had ever seen him since his return from Douai. It must be wonderful to have your path blessed by a man whose faith you believe in like the abbe. Not that Aramis did not still have his struggles. He had a son he could never be a father to and loved a woman he would never be with. And yet, ever since he had returned with them to Paris, Aramis seemed to have a clear sense of mission and purpose. To say Athos envied him would be gross understatement.

“I plan on being too drunk to care where I sleep,” Porthos said, jumping out of the saddle and tying the reins of his horse to a tree. “Still can’t believe you’re back,” he said, beaming at Aramis. Athos envied that as well—their uncomplicated and immovable friendship.

“Perhaps my life has just made me a bit more sore,” d’Artagnan said with a waggling eyebrow. “It’s probably a good thing we got this assignment. If I’d stayed in Paris, I wouldn’t have been able to walk soon.”

Athos threw Roger’s reins over a branch next to Porthos’s horse and rolled his eyes despite envying d’Artagnan even more than the other two. The happy days of early marriage and love could not be bettered. Porthos’s reaction was to laugh and slap d’Artagnan on the back. Aramis, however, scratched his beard and looked thoughtful.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that literally fucking until you can’t walk is a myth. Yes, it is technically possible, and I certainly have spent mornings after especially good nights a little the worse for wear. But unable to walk? Never. And I think it is fair to say that I have pushed this proposition further than most.”

Porthos laughed even harder, and poor d’Artagnan scowled at the ground. Athos shook his head and said, “Aramis, getting married does not mean d’Artagnan must forgo the use of figurative language.”

“Oh, of course not! No hard feelings,” Aramis said, placing a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “I would never deny a man the use of metaphor. I just honestly wondered if you were aware of the physical ramifications of frequent, vigorous sex. Perhaps I was wrong in my assumption of your experience level.”

“I wasn’t a virgin.”

“We know that all too well,” Porthos chuckled, but when Athos glared at him, Porthos quickly stopped laughing.

“Why are we on this mission?” Aramis asked in a welcome change of topic. “And what, precisely, is the mission? I mean, I am a soldier, content to take orders. So, when you said to get ready to ride, I did. But this does seem a rather odd arrangement, if I may say so.”

“What’s odd about the four of us going on a mission together?” d’Artagnan asked, beginning to unload his horse.

“Athos is captain now,” said Porthos. “When did Treville ever ride with us?”

“He came with us to Pinon,” d’Artagnan answered.

“When he had been stripped of his rank,” Athos said. “Aramis and Porthos are entirely correct—I should be in Paris at the garrison, assigning men to missions and working with the palace on how the regiment can aid in the war effort.” Athos paused and sighed. “I thought it would be safest to wait until we were well out of Paris to explain everything. The trees have fewer ears than the walls.”

“What’s going on?” Porthos demanded, dropping his saddle on the ground and giving his full attention to Athos. The other two also halted their activities to look at him. Athos, however, continued to make camp, as though what he had to say were not that interesting.

“The king is worried what role his mother may attempt to play in the war, seeing as how she is living in Spanish territory in Brussels. He demanded that Treville send his best Musketeers to assess the situation, and that is what we are doing here.”

“What does ‘assess the situation’ mean?” asked d’Artagnan.

“See what kind of support she has,” answered Aramis. “Particularly see if that support could lead to the raising of troops. Also, find out how seriously the Spanish take her. Did they offer her exile merely to humiliate Louis, or because they believe they could install her as their puppet on the French throne?”

“But she already tried to claim the throne once,” Porthos said. “And she was defeated. Then that whole scheme with her grandson. She can’t really think she has a chance.”

Athos sighed. “Treville says she is a woman so delusional as to always be a danger. To my mind, Gaston is the greater threat, and I’d much rather be assessing the situation in Lorraine.

At this point, the other three pitched in to set up camp, yet the conversation continued, for which Athos was glad. He wanted to work out in his head all of the players in this deadly game, and his brothers were three of the very few people with whom he could discuss the situation openly.

“Okay, I’ll admit that in some ways I’m still an ignorant Gascon farmer,” said d’Artagnan, gathering sticks for a fire around the cookpots he’d already unpacked. “But I don’t understand the issue with the king’s brother. Especially now….” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Now that there’s the Dauphin.”

“That is because you have not met the Duke of Orleans,” Athos said with a heavy sigh. “Gaston is a spoiled simpleton with an explosive temper.”

“So, just like Louis?”

Aramis shook his head. “He makes Louis look positively sensible and moderate. And that’s me saying so.”

“He is especially cruel and stupid—the worst combination one can find in a man with power,” Athos explained. “The Duke of Lorraine, on the other hand, is cruel but intelligent, which can be a more dangerous combination. The point is, Lorraine wants complete independence. Louis doesn’t want to give him that. If Gaston promises Lorraine that’s what he would give him should he sit on the throne, well, you can see how helping Gaston oust Louis might be tempting to Lorraine.”

“But would Gaston? Would Lorraine agree to it?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Gaston wouldn’t want to,” Athos said. “Not only would he be giving up France’s claims on Lorraine, but then he would be beholden to a powerful man. Lorraine is a smart man.”

“So why isn’t Louis more worried about Gaston than his mother?”

“Because while Gaston may be even dumber than Louis, Louis still isn’t bright,” said Porthos, stretching out the first of the two tents.

“And meanwhile,” d’Artagnan said through gritted teeth as he attempted to get his flint to strike, “we’re actually at war with Spain. When are we going to fight the enemy, anyway?”

“The Musketeers are not a regiment designed to fight set battles,” Athos said. “Yet, something tells me that every soldier in France will eventually be needed in this war.”

***

Porthos seemed to not be able to get enough of Aramis’s company or wine, and d’Artagnan appeared equally enthusiastic, even more so than Aramis in some ways. As content as Aramis was to be back, it struck Athos as though perhaps he had mellowed, uncovered a deeper seriousness that had always been a part of his character, but not as prominent. Or Athos was being completely nonsensical. Whatever the case, Athos crawled into one of the tents, claiming the most comfortable bedroll well before he expected any of the others to turn in.

Not that he slept, in spite of his exhaustion from having ridden all day and missing a fair amount of sleep the past few nights, following, of course the long ride to Douai to get Aramis, which came immediately after the long nights of protecting the queen and bringing down Rochefort. God, had he slept well for a month?

But what haunted him most was how Anne and Treville had said goodbye to him that morning. After Treville had said so definitely the night before that he would never be with Athos and Anne together, Athos had fought to accept his life without Treville. And yet, had Treville possibly changed his mind that morning? He had not actually said as much. The way he had held Athos, gripped him so tightly, it had struck Athos more as Treville asserting his right to Athos’s body rather than admitting Anne had any rights of her own or that he was interested in sharing with her. That was until Treville had reached over Athos’s shoulder to kiss Anne. Athos had never seen anything like it, or felt anything similar. He could feel their passion for each other in his body and the way they continued to touch him.

But then he had come—there had been literally no way for him not to—and the moment had been shattered. They had all three slowly pulled apart, Treville looking for somewhere to wipe his hand, and Anne pulling off her spend-covered glove. Athos had looked back and forth between them, while they had worked very hard to look at nothing.

Finally, Treville had broken the silence, and said, “Athos, burn the note I sent. Uncover Marie de Medici’s intentions any way you can. Send a report in three weeks at most. Obviously, use the utmost secrecy and be careful.”

Athos had turned himself far enough so that he could kiss Treville’s cheek. When his lips touched his face, Treville’s eyes had closed, and Athos had wanted to hold him and never leave. But that moment had been the most fleeting yet.

Treville’s eyes had snapped back open and pinned Anne with their icy glare, and even though she hadn’t been looking up, she froze under that gaze. “I need your help,” Treville said. “You were right—I can’t navigate the intricacies at court, and what I don’t know could get people killed.”

At this, Anne raised her head, meeting Treville’s eyes, and once again, just as when they had been pleasing Athos together, they seemed to communicate without words. “What do you need to know?”

“The Comte de la Garmeaux and his son, Julian the Chevalier de la Garmeaux. They claim the son’s lands have been raided by the Spanish. What is the truth of the claim, where are the Spanish, what is the size of their force around Toulouse, what will the Garmeauxs do next?”

She nodded. “Anything else?”

“Whether or not the Duke of Lorraine has been in touch with either Garmeaux would also be nice.”

She grimaced, and her eyes flickered to Athos’s for less than a heartbeat. “I’ll do it.”

After that, she had kissed Athos almost viciously and stuffed her soiled glove in his pocket. “I…,” she began, but stopped, pushing past Treville to the door.

“I love you,” Athos hastily whispered at her back.

She paused and dropped her head. “I love you, too,” she said. And then she was gone.

“I have to go, as well,” Treville had said, his voice pinched. “As do you. The king was not in a kind mood when he said he wanted you gone before the morning ended.”

Athos had pushed his lips hard against Treville’s, who threaded his fingers into Athos’s hair, his grip tight and needy. “I love you, too, you know,” said Athos, barely pulling his mouth far enough from Treville’s to speak. “That will never change.”

Treville had pushed his lips hard against Athos’s before panting, “I know.”

And then Treville left, and Athos had been as alone as he had ever been in his life.

The entire walk back to the garrison, while he packed, once he mounted up, Athos’s mind had stayed in that closet. He wanted to remain there forever between Anne and Treville, the two of them literally supporting him with their love. Might that ever happen again? Lying here now in his bedroll, his body ached for them both. He wanted to touch himself and to lose himself in thoughts of Anne and Treville, but then laughter reached his ears, Porthos’s loud and cutting through everything. No, not tonight, Athos decided. Perhaps tomorrow they would find an inn and he would invoke the privilege of rank and claim a room alone.

***

In the middle of the night, Athos awoke, the pressure in his underclothes almost unbearable. He had been dreaming of Treville wearing his hat and nothing else while swinging Anne’s belt. From the corner of his office, Anne had watched them, Athos’s blue cloak around her bare shoulders. She was telling Treville where to hit Athos and how hard. Athos realized he was naked from the waist down and fully erect, but he couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to do.

Of course, once Athos woke enough to understand that the one part of his dream that was true was his erection, he rubbed his eyes and listened. Everyone seemed to have gone to sleep. Someone breathed quietly in the bedroll next to him, but he was not sure who it was. But the breathing sounded even enough that Athos thought whichever of his brothers it might be, he would sleep through what he had to do.

His underclothes came untied easily enough and he slipped his hand inside. Even though he was already painfully hard, he still rolled his balls in his hand for a moment, the rituals needing to be observed. Now he just had to pick a fantasy. He could continue with his dream—Treville naked was always a welcome thought, and he had never hit Athos with a belt before. Spanked him with his bare hand, yes, even his holster once, but never a belt. It would be glorious, he had no doubt.

But Athos also wanted Anne in his fantasy, and not merely as an observer. He wanted her to take an active part, and not only with him, but with Treville. That had been the most magical part of their goodbye—not what they had done to him, but the way they had kissed each other.

Yes, Athos wanted to imagine them together kissing each other, but also touching and fucking. He wanted Treville to lift the blue cloak up to Anne’s waist and throw her against the wall. Then he would use those deft, worn fingers to make her a soaking mess. Not that she would just stay there pinned. Not Anne. Never Anne. She would pull him over to the desk and reach out with her foot, curl her toes around the side of Treville’s balls, and she would push just hard enough that he would barely be able to concentrate, but not enough to hurt him.

But she would drop her foot so he could get closer, because she would want more, and he would be eager to give it to her. She’d pull his face down, but not so they could kiss. Instead, she would bury Treville’s mouth against her breast, pushing his head harder and harder to let him know that she wanted him to bite more and to suck with more force. Treville was a man who could only stand this for so long, though, and he would push her legs apart and climb on the desk. He would pull up one of her legs by the knee to get a better angle and then thrust into her in a single motion.

Athos was spilling all over his hand before he even knew what he was doing. Had he made a noise? He might have sobbed. Biting his free hand as hard as he knew his wife liked to be bitten, he pulled and worked himself through his climax in silence. Yet, when he finished, he felt so winded, he could hardly breathe. He wanted to suck in great gulps of air, but that would be impossibly loud, and he didn’t want to risk waking whoever was in the tent with him.

“Are you alright, Athos?” Aramis whispered from the other bedroll.

Athos froze, having no idea how he was expected to answer such a question. He should probably put his cock away and clean off his hand, but he hadn’t really thought ahead to the little problems of how to clean up or speak when spoken to. He cleared his throat, and managed to say, “I am fine.” His voice sounded pinched and unnatural, and he had no doubt that Aramis would notice; the only question was if Aramis would comment on the fact.

“Who were you thinking about?” Aramis asked.

“Who was I…I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Your wife has returned to your bed, but when last I was in your confidence, you had another lover in your bed. It’s the sort of situation that can lead to difficulty. The kind of difficulty you might wish to discuss with a friend.”

Seeing no reason to keep pretending, Athos rolled over and found his scarf and wiped off his hand. And then he sighed, trying to figure out how to explain anything he was feeling to Aramis. “Both.”

“Pardon?”

“I was thinking of both of them. Together. It’s…what I want more than anything.”

“Do they know that?”

“Yes.”

In the pause that followed, Aramis rolled over onto his side to face Athos. It was too dark to see, but Athos could sense the movement and feel Aramis’s voice more clearly. “What did they say?”

“Anne said yes. I think…oh, I don’t know what I think. There’s so much history between us, and we’ve been pulled apart so many times for so many reasons that I think she said yes because she’s afraid she can’t be with me any other way. Which isn’t true.”

“And even if it were, it’s not a very effective way to stay with someone you love,” Aramis whispered. “All it’s good for, in fact, is breeding resentment, and I should say the two of you have more than enough of that.”

“I know. But it didn’t matter. Treville refused.”

“And for that I am sorry. I know how much the two of you have meant to each other.”

“All hope might not yet be lost,” Athos said, wondering just what details of the goodbye to share with Aramis, particularly since he did not understand the details himself. “I think they may have come to an understanding before we left. But I am unsure.”

Aramis’s hand reached out and found Athos’s shoulder. “Be careful, my friend. Bringing three people into one life, one bed, is a difficult proposition, even when the three people have less history than the three of you.”

“I know, Aramis,” said Athos, closing his hand over Aramis’s and squeezing. “But I don’t see how I can live without either of them. I’ve tried, and it has always been a misery.”

“I know,” Aramis said, squeezing his shoulder. “I know. God’s speed.”


	10. Chapter 10

Milady had finally contacted him. Treville had wanted to summon her, but he also didn’t want to pressure her professionally or personally after Athos left. Besides, he had hoped if he waited, somehow he would understand his own feelings. It was odd, not understanding what he felt. He had always been blessed with clear vision and self-awareness, but four days after Athos’s departure, he still couldn’t say what had happened in that closet. He knew he needed to get his footing at least professionally if not personally, and that meant getting an update if she had one. But even so, he’d been unable to ask her for one. When her message arrived asking to talk, he sighed with relief. Evenings were usually better for him, but he didn’t think it wise to invite her to his rooms. So he told her to come in the afternoon to his office when he would likely only have ten minutes to spare.

She could tell him everything she had to in ten minutes. And he could manage to be in her presence for that long without thinking about that kiss. Couldn’t he?

He couldn’t.

Why he had thought it would be possible, he had no idea. In the four days since he’d been in that closet with her and Athos, he hadn’t gone ten minutes without remembering what her lips felt like on his, what she tasted like, and how she smelled. He had always known she was a beautiful woman. Beautiful falling as short of the mark as saying Notre Dame Cathedral was large and the Pope was Catholic. She was stunning. Intoxicating. And kissing her had proven as arousing as he had always assumed it must be. To have kissed her over Athos’s shoulder while they both touched him was simply too much. He wanted her. More to the point, he wanted her and Athos. He wanted to change his mind, to say yes to their proposition. But he couldn’t now. Athos was gone, and Milady had been avoiding him for four days. If she didn’t have something important to tell him, he thought it quite likely she still would be nowhere near him. If her look was often sour, now as she stood in front of his desk with her arms crossed, she looked as if she might have just eaten a bag of lemons.

It was a countenance that drew attention to her mouth. And all Treville wanted to do when he looked at her mouth was kiss it again. She hadn’t been in his office for thirty seconds.

“Wine?” Treville asked, standing in front of his chair, leaning on his desk.

“Only if you have something better than that swill you had the last time I was here.”

“You’ll have to forgive me—I’m a simple old soldier. Wine is not my area of expertise.”

“Then learn it,” she said, dropping into the chair on the other side of the desk. “What wine you give a visitor is an important part of the political game.” She sighed. “I’ll buy you three wines—one for people you’re trying to impress, one you give to people you’re trying to insult, and one to save for people you actually like and me.”

“In this matter, I bow to your superior wisdom.” He literally bowed and hurried to take a seat, trying not to dwell on the fact she didn’t consider herself a person he liked. So, they had not reached an understanding over Athos’s shoulder. Or, perhaps, she understood and rejected him. He could not blame her.

They sat silently for a moment, not quite looking at each other and then both made to speak at the same time. He gestured to her. “Please. Go first.”

“You are the boss.” She screwed up her face before blurting out, “Garmeaux is a fool, but not a liar. His son’s lands on the border with Spain were raided almost immediately after the declaration of war. And his own lands are hugely vulnerable to invasion. But I discovered something far more interesting.”

Treville raised an eyebrow. He had known she would find something. It was why he had relented and contracted her services for the good of France. It’s what Richelieu, a far smarter man than he, had seen in her. “Yes?”

“He still maintains ties with Marie de Medici, which everyone knows.”

“Right.”

“Including the Spanish. I’m thinking they don’t care about him or Marie. Which would just be funny, except for who does care about his plight.”

“And who might that be?”

“Why, the Duke of Lorraine.” She paused to smile broadly. Treville dug his fingers into his thighs in an attempt to distract himself from her mouth. She didn’t want his interest and this was important and he needed to focus.

“How interested is Lorraine? Money? Men? Supplies? Future promises?”

“I’m still working on that. In fact, I have a meeting in twenty minutes with someone who regularly corresponds with Lorraine’s. I’ll hopefully have all kinds of fascinating news for you in a day or two.”

“Oh really?” Treville said, impressed and excited. “Who is it? Where are you meeting?”

“I’m not telling you. Another lesson for you—don’t ask too much about what I do. It’s better you don’t know. For many reasons.”

“And it’s even better that I do know in case anything happens to you and you need help.”

“The Cardinal never demanded to know my business.”

He crooked his lips into something like a smile. “I doubt that very much. And even if it is true, we are going to have a different relationship on this front.”

“And why do you think I’ll agree to that?”  
  
“Because you know Athos would never forgive me if I ever let anything happen to you. So, you’ll do it for him.” Her mouth was open, but she snapped it shut. God, but he knew everything her mouth was doing. “Please. I want to keep you safe.”

She stared at him and her face appeared to soften, if just for a moment, before she clenched her jaw again and she became Milady once more after giving him a brief glimpse of what he thought might have been Anne. “I’m going to a tavern on the Rue de Helene. That’s all I’m telling you, though. My safety cannot interfere with my actual utility. Otherwise I could just stay home and darn Athos’s socks.”

“I could have someone follow you. Discreetly.”

She scoffed. “I can promise you would never find someone discreet enough.”

“Do you know anything about the tavern owner?”  
  
“A little. Why?”

Treville opened a drawer and pulled out a money purse. He counted out some coins, the equivalent of a good night out in one of Paris’s popular taverns. “Give him this. Tell him if he protects you, there will be more. And that if anything should happen to you, he should contact me.”

“So, basically tell a tavern owner I’m working for you? Are you mad?”

“Then tell him to alert Broder, the hostler. He’s an old friend and someone I can contact regularly without attracting attention.”

She took the coins and dumped them into the money purse she had attached to her belt. “Agreed. If it makes any difference,” she started to say but stopped, all the while staring at a spot on the desk just in front of her.

“Yes?” he urged. “If what makes a difference?”

She took a deep breath and held it before looking up at him. Her eyes pinned him to his chair. Then again, it was impossible not to be paralyzed by her eyes. Her gaze penetrated deeper than skin, and he knew that if she chose to look, she would see the feelings he wished to hide from her. “If it makes a difference, I intend to be particularly careful. I understand that I have more to live for than I once did.”

His throat constricted and movement did not come easily, but he forced a small nod. “He is worth living for.”

She relaxed minutely, he thought. Her posture became less rigid and her lips parted. They understood each other after all, perhaps. She saw inside him and did not find him wanting, in spite of his fears. Yes?

Someone knocked quickly on his door several times and then pushed it open without waiting for Treville to invite him in. It was one of the king’s many pages, delivering some useless message.

“Minister Treville,” the boy bowed. “His majesty requires your presence at supper. He says that your expertise on the new arquebus model is invaluable in settling dispute between him and the Chevalier Michelle.”

Treville gritted his teeth while Milady snorted. “What time is supper?” he asked. When the page answered, Treville couldn’t help but groan. Why did they need to eat so damned late at the palace? His habits still leaned toward those of a soldier—early to bed, early to rise. Court would kill him at this rate. “Tell his majesty I will be honored to break bread with him and more than happy to discuss firearms with him to his heart’s content.”

“Very well, Minister. Thank you.” The boy bowed and exited.

Milady laughed. “Too bad you sent Aramis away with Athos. He would do much better at supper and fielding arquebus questions. Then again, he really can’t have supper with the king, can he?”

“That is not a topic of conversation. Ever,” Treville snapped, annoyed to have this most unwanted topic raised and to have had the previous moment shattered. He had honestly been wondering if they were getting somewhere. But no.

“Yes, I suppose not,” she said, rising. “Well, I’m off. I’m going to be late as it is, and while I want to keep my contact waiting, I don’t want to keep him waiting that long.”

“And you will use caution and do as I ask?”

She stopped in the middle of her turn toward the door and examined him thoroughly, if swiftly. “Yes. I’ll be in contact in the next few days.”

Treville stood slowly and took his time rounding the desk. He may be taken by her and caught up in the situation, but he still remembered something. A man in control never has to hurry, so, if you want to prove you have a handle on a situation, or pretend that you do, don’t allow anything or anyone to rush you. All the while, she stood and watched him, never leaving her place between her chair and the desk. This meant he could lean against the front of the desk right next to her. He could “accidentally” brush her thigh with his, but he did not. “You will report back here tomorrow morning. Otherwise, I will raze Paris until I find you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said in a firm, neutral tone that gave him no clue how she felt.

***

Anne had to remind herself to breathe and walk like a normal person. The servants at the palace were already staring at her, and she was just waiting for someone to try and force her out. To remind her that she didn’t belong. That a few short weeks ago the king had dismissed her from court. Would Treville defend her if that happened? _Should_ he? Everything she and Treville, and Athos for that matter, had done would be for naught if Treville lost his position. As unfit as she still believed him to be, he was a better Minister of War than anyone else she could come up with. And now he had her to help. As long as she did nothing to attract attention.

Inhale. Exhale. Walk with purpose, but not speed. Head down. Avoid eye contact.

But it was hard. What exactly had happened in there? Treville had said conclusively that he did not wish to be any part of her relationship with Athos. Fine. She had every intention of keeping their encounters infrequent and businesslike. But that had been blown to hell by their joint goodbye to Athos. Treville had come into that closet and inserted himself, in some pretty literal ways, in her marriage. And then he had kissed her. She licked her lips at the memory. It had been an exceptional kiss. And it had followed something she could not explain. Something had passed between then, but then Treville had just started barking orders again and the moment was gone.

And then nothing.

She had waited for Treville to contact her. To ask her if she’d found any important information. To see if she needed something. She wanted to wait him out, to be as stubborn as she had ever been, but everything she had already done would prove useless if she didn’t talk to him, so she had made this appointment.

When he had told her to come in the afternoon, and that he could not spare her much time, she hadn’t known if she should be grateful of furious. He wanted nothing between them. The kiss in the closet, Athos connecting them, had been an aberration, not a sign of things to come. And given that fact, a quick exchange of information in his office was for the best. But at the same time, it showed a disregard for her. It was proof that whatever intimacy had passed between them was not to be repeated. It made her want to throttle him until he explained what he had felt.

She had entered Treville’s office, ready to give him what he needed professionally, and not an ounce of anything else. He seemed willing to conduct himself in a like manner. Until his unexpected protectiveness emerged. Well, perhaps it should not have been so wholly unexpected. He’d always been some sort of vicious papa wolf with his Musketeers, and now she was in his employ. And yet, it was more. His concern for her wellbeing. The way he looked at her. Stared at her face, her mouth. What had just happened? She refused to read anything into it, considering where the look they exchanged around Athos had gotten her.

What she wished to contemplate even less was what she wanted it to mean. She had Athos. He was all she needed, and in time, she would help him to see she was all he needed. Treville did not figure into any of that for either of them. That’s where she should focus her energy. There and on her upcoming meeting.

Nicolas, Chevalier Janvier. A tiny, old man, he was easy to overlook in a crowd. Soft, but elegantly spoken, he was unassuming until one got to know him. She had only met him once before, but he had made an impression with his intelligence. Although he had come from some pointless village in Normandy, he had studied at the Sorbonne, and had a noted academic career before becoming tutor to Gaston, Duke of Orleans. A post that had been won for him by his friend from his years at the Sorbonne, Paget, member of the king’s council. Seeing Paget just before saying goodbye to Athos and Treville making his request for her to find information for him, must have reminded her of Janvier. At any rate, she had tracked him down, and asked him to meet her at Montcourt’s Tavern in one of the private rooms. Emeline, the barmaid who actually ran the tavern for the drunk, incompetent Montcourt, had been more than pleased to be of service to Anne, as she always had been.

As she neared the Rue de Helene, Anne wondered what tricks would serve her best in cultivating a relationship with Janvier. She had yet to figure out was what she intended to do if it became clear she could only learn what she needed to by sleeping with him. She hadn’t hesitated to seduce a man if she thought it would help her reach her ends since she was sixteen. But now she had her husband again. She knew without even having to think about it that Athos would not want her to. He had his code of honor, and seducing men for information or to make it easier to slit their throats did not fit that code. And he would be jealous. That simple. She didn’t want to seduce anyone for the good of France. But if it were a matter of information she could get no other way that would be vital to Athos? Well, she hoped Janvier simply enjoyed conversation with beautiful women.

Whatever happened with Janvier, she would manage. She would find out what she needed, and Athos would benefit by it, and so would Treville. They could both talk all they wished to of France, but she was doing this for her husband. Her motivations, no matter what Treville might accuse her of, never actually changed. Every choice in her life came back to Athos, a real person, not an idea that could change or morph. Athos was Athos. She had been driven by want of him, love for him, hatred for his very existence, but it had always been Athos. And now she would do what she must, for him. Including dealing with Treville.

She pushed open the door of Montcourt’s. Emeline stood behind the bar, as always when she wasn’t taking an order to a table, and nodded to Anne. Then she nodded to the room at the back right of the common room, and Anne walked straight for it.

Inside she found the tiny chevalier sipping something out of a clay mug, making a face. As always, Emeline had a choice of three wines ready on a sideboard for her. Anne closed the door, and without speaking first, opened the decanter of a vintage far too good for the Montcourt. But Emeline brought in anything Anne needed. “Whatever that swill is, dump it out,” she said as she poured with her back to Janvier. “I promise this is literally the only thing worth drinking in this establishment.”

“If you have managed to find something remotely palatable, I am most eager to sample it.”

She smiled as she whirled around and held out the glass across the table. His face was hard to read, as he was silhouetted by the window behind him. This just gave her more reason to sit at one of the empty sides of the table instead of directly across from him. “You were kind enough to come and see me. Providing refreshment that is, well, refreshing, is the least I could to.”

“It is not every day that and old academic receives an invitation from a beautiful woman. How could I say no?”

She smiled coyly and batted her eyelashes. Hopefully flirting would prove enough today. “It is not often I have an excuse to speak with someone as eminent as you. Truly, you are the one performing the favor.”

Janvier leaned forward. His dark brown eyes were disproportionately large for his withered face, and she had a feeling this gaze was one his students did not remember fondly. “I believe we have exchanged the requisite number of pleasantries. And while this wine isn’t bad, I have fifty bottles at home that are better. Why does the former mistress of the king want to talk to a teacher who was dismissed from court years ago?”

Direct. An approach she would not say no to today. Very well. “It’s because we have both been dismissed by this… _king_.” She said the last word with as much distaste in her tone as she could muster. “I was forced out because Louis took the word of an insane traitor over mine, and while Rochefort is now thankfully dead, I still seem to be nearly penniless and alone. Doesn’t seem quite fair to me. Does it sound fair to you?”

“Fairness was never a virtue his majesty attempted to cultivate. His mother was not a great help on that front.” Janvier sat back and shook his head before continuing. “However, other than sympathy, and I do offer you my most profound sympathy, I truly do, I’m uncertain what it is you think I can offer you.”

Anne sipped her wine with a raised eyebrow. “Is there not?” she asked when she took the glass away from her damp lips. “I heard you were a scholar of some repute in the field of history. Surely you are a man who must have…notions about what the future of France might look like. Perhaps under the guidance of your former pupil."

Janvier chuckled. “Oh, dear Milady, what former pupil could you possibly mean?”

“I actually spoke with one the other day at the palace—Chevalier Romilly. A bright young man. Such a shame he should have had his career brought up short merely because of a chance association with Gaston, who, of course, was also your student.”

“Many people have less than kind words to say about the Duke of Orleans, but most of those people do not really know him,” said Janvier. “He is not nearly as dim as popular opinion would have him. And he is extremely loyal to those who are loyal to him.”

“Like you?”

“My affection for the duke remains undimmed.”

“Like Lorraine?”

Rather than answering, Janvier sipped his wine. “I have heard that that the Duke of Orleans and the Duke of Lorraine have indeed grown very close.”

“Heard from your former pupil?”

“Yes.”

Anne couldn’t stop an eyebrow from shooting up. “You correspond with Gaston?”

Janvier fumbled with his glass on the table, sloshing some of the wine over the side. “No. I heard from another former pupil.”

“Who corresponds with Gaston?”

Pinning her with another of his schoolmaster’s glares, Janvier said, “From Julian, the Chevalier de la Garmeaux. You may have heard that he recently arrived in Paris after the Spanish destroyed his home. Julian and the Duke of Lorraine have been friends since long before the current tensions between Lorraine and Louis. There was, in fact, a time when the Garmeauxs and the Dukes of Lorraine were quite close, in the days of Henri, when many of us were on friendly terms. King Louis is not a particularly friendly person.”

Anne nodded to show her agreement, but she wasn’t really thinking much about whether or not Louis was a chummy sort of guy. This explained how the younger Garmeaux knew Romilly. Were they all still friends with Gaston? And could Janvier be used by her to communicate with Lorraine?

“Times are certainly harder,” she agreed. “It’s difficult to live, what with the king’s whims and Spain invading. How do you manage?”

“I was luckier than most. I was dismissed from court, but I still have friends there who convinced the king to provide me with a pension. It isn’t much, but I’ve invested well in Seine property.”

“Is there any chance you might help me with some investments?”  
  
Janvier shook his head before emptying his glass. “There are many men in Paris who will be happy to help you invest any capital you might be in possession of. I am a retired teacher, whose passion has turned from history and the doings of the world to botany. If you will forgive me, I have plants that need pruning.”

He stood and nodded, and she didn’t try to stop him from leaving. She’d learned about as much from him as she was going to on a first visit. If she couldn’t fill in more holes about what the Garmeauxs might be up to without him, well, she would wear something a bit tighter in the bodice and stop by Janvier’s house to get a look at his plants.


	11. Chapter 11

The ride north had been entirely uneventful, and Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan had been forced to entertain themselves. Athos couldn’t think of many times in his life that had been more enjoyable—the four of them together again, joking, telling stories. It did not even feel as though France was at war with them riding contentedly north to listen for rumblings about the king’s exiled mother. Someday they might have to fight a genuine battle, but for now their greatest danger was saddle sores.

“This looks like a good spot to camp. What do you think?” asked d’Artagnan. “It’s getting dark.”

“There’s a town up the road, maybe only a mile. No inn, though, if I recall correctly,” Aramis said. “With the stream nearby, I’d say this is as good a spot as we’ll find. However, we could use some supplies if someone wanted to do a little shopping.”

“I want to fall on my face and sleep for a week,” Porthos mumbled when he slid out of his saddle next to where d’Artagnan had led his horse.

“This should teach you the importance of moderation,” Aramis said with a grin and dismounting as well.

“I’m still happy you’re back. A little celebrating was in order.”

D’Artagnan laughed, joining them on the ground. “You celebrated three nights in a row. Including after Aramis went to bed like a sane person.”

“Back me up here, Athos,” Porthos moaned, looking truly as hungover as Athos had ever seen him, his bloodshot eyes visible in the fading light even here at the end of day. He needed a long drink of water, and then, yes, to sleep for a week. Athos well knew the feeling.

“I’ve no doubt you feel horrible,” was Athos’s response. “And since I am the only one still in the saddle, I will go to the village. Meat and wine for three days should do it. Is there anything else? Aramis, you double checked the medical supplies?”

Aramis sighed dramatically. “And triple checked. Athos, I was away from all of you for less than a week. In that time, I did not suddenly forget the importance of packing needle and thread, ointment and bandages, and all the rest. It’s really quite insulting.”

“There is no need to become agitated,” Athos said with the hint of a smile. “I will be back in an hour. I trust camp will be ready in that time?”

“Yes, Captain,” d’Artagnan said with the smirk he had taken to wearing whenever using Athos’s new rank.

Athos just shook his head with a smile as he turned Roger back toward the road. As much as he loved his brothers, he was happy to go for supplies and have some time alone. Once again he hadn’t been able to sleep, his thoughts focused entirely on Anne and Treville. He had played over and over in his mind what had happened in the closet. There had unquestionably been a moment between the two of them, but then both had gone stiff afterward. He wanted to know what it meant—if they had connected and then the bond had broken, or if the connection had overwhelmed them so much they had been forced to step back. In other words, would the bond still exist when he returned to Paris? Because he was more certain now than ever that a bond of some sort existed.

But there was only so much time he could spend asking himself that same unanswerable question over and over. And that was when his mind, every moment it could during the easy ride today, had wandered to what it would be like to be with both Anne and Treville at the same time. He had been between them in the closet, but what might they do with Anne between him and Treville? Treville between him and Anne? He dreamed of them bathing together, riding out to a secluded field to roll in the grass in one tangled heap, of them naked and pressed tightly in one bed. He wanted their hands and mouths all over him.

Athos’s reverie was cut short by the sight of a wagon tilting precariously at the side of the road and the three figures—a man, woman, and child—staring hopelessly at it. The man was small and covered in dirt and mud. The woman, while young and apparently healthy, was not going to be able to provide meaningful help beyond unloading the wagon, which had already been done. The child, a boy of maybe ten, would also be unable to do much.

Athos reined in Roger when he was a few feet away. “May I be of assistance?” he asked, sliding out of the saddle.

“Oh, sir, thank you for stopping,” the man said straightening up. “I am Hubert, and this is my family. We broke a wheel, and I have another to replace it, but we can’t get the wagon up and the wheel off. I’m sure we wouldn’t trouble you for more than ten minutes.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” he said, squatting down to look at the wheel. “And if it proves too much for the two of us, I left three brother Musketeers making camp not even half a mile back.”

“Oh, I’m sure there will be no need to disturb them,” the man said, grinning with obvious relief that he would get his wagon repaired before dark. “Now, Philip, Muriel, come close with the crates to slide under and hold the wagon once we get it up.”

Athos smiled as the family went into action, a well-run team that he suspected traveled together regularly. “Are you heading to the village up the road?” he asked as the preparations were made.

“We are, sir. We have goods we sell in this area, and this village is a nice one. We’ve been many times, but the road is usually in better repair, though. We were quite shocked to hit such a profound hole.”

The family’s horse neighed as Muriel unharnessed it. Athos watched the animal for a moment, but it was probably anxious from standing around for so long, all of the people nearby stressed. 

Athos smiled sympathetically. “And on a good road this close to your destination, it’s easy to become a little less vigilant looking for holes.”  
  
“Oh, no, sir!” the boy, Philip, jumped in. “It’s my job to keep an eye out. And I always do my job, sir. There were tree limbs over the hole. Like it was deliberate.”

“Now, Philip, I told you to stop saying that. Who would try to crash our wagon? Debris blew over the hole and covered it.”

“But it’s been an exceptionally still day,” Athos mumbled to himself.

“Pardon?” Hubert asked.

Before Athos could formulate an answer, Roger started digging awkwardly at the ground. Athos straightened up and lit the fuse of his pistol on the man's oil lamp, but in the gloom he saw nothing. Still, he felt something, as did both horses. But who and what? Hubert was right—no one would want to disable his wagon. However, there were more people than Athos cared to count who would ambush four Musketeers.

The shooting pain in his left calf was shocking and intense. Athos couldn’t contain a yelp while he continued to look for attackers, a crossbow bolt now planted in his leg. “Get under the wagon,” he yelled to the family. But the boy panicked and took off running down the road the way Athos had come. From behind a clump of bushes on the left side of the road, a man emerged. The boy tried to dodge right, but it looked as though the man, heavily armed and clearly not here to help, would cut the boy off. Athos fired his pistol and the attacker fell dead at the boy’s feet.

With a scream, Philip jumped the body and continued running. Athos thought of sending one of his parents after him, but Hubert was huddled under the wagon, Muriel bleeding in his arms. Athos needed to find who was shooting at them more than he needed someone to follow the boy. But where was the shooter? Based on the fact he and the woman had been hit by crossbows in such quick succession led him to believe there was more than one shooter, and they were probably set up somewhere on the other side of the road.

But what, precisely, did he see himself doing? He had a bolt in his leg and could barely stand. He was in no fit state to go looking for foes to fight. Best to take cover and reload his pistol and hope they came to him. “How is she?” Athos asked as he leaned against the side of the wagon, hopefully out of the line of sight of the people trying to kill him.

Muriel was crying which was a good sign—it meant she was alive and awake, but Hubert didn’t see it that way. “She has a bolt in her side. God! What should I do? My poor Muriel! You will be fine. Don’t cry, my dear!”

“Do not remove the bolt,” Athos said. “As soon as we get this sorted, my fellow Musketeers will be here. One of them is uncommonly good with battlefield injuries. I would take him over any man calling himself a surgeon.”  
  
“Philip? Oh God, where is my son?”

Athos finished ramming his shot home while he peeked over his shoulder for movement. “I sent him off up the road to get my friends.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, Athos thought, and it would give Hubert more comfort than the truth. Moving his pistol to his left hand, he pulled his sword. “He is quite a bit safer than we are.”

Athos couldn’t know how true this statement was until a few seconds later. Being only one man, his range of view was limited, and so he did not see the man slip from the tree line a mere five feet away until he stood two feet away. Athos did not have time to bring his pistol or sword to bear before this new attacker swung the handle of his own pistol at Athos’s head and the world went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

Louis was receiving. Treville hated it when Louis received before formal suppers, and as Minister for War he was expected to attend. These nights always dragged on so tediously and hours past his bedtime. He always grew so cranky that at some point he longed to tell at least a dozen vapid courtiers, “My God, would you shut up already?” His only solace was that he had plans to see Anne after, should this end at a decent hour. They now met every night after supper as an opportunity to exchange the information they had learned during the day. But more than work, Treville looked forward to intelligent conversation and a chance to think about Athos with someone else who loved him. Whether or not Anne found similar comfort in their time together after supper, he did not know.

“Minister,” Romilly said, with a bow. “I see the Comte de la Garmeaux is chatting with his majesty again.”

Treville turned his attention to the front of the room. Indeed, the comte appeared to have the king’s ear. These discussions inevitably led to a new demand being made of Treville, and he needed no more demands. He still had yet to work out how he would fulfill his last promise to Garmeaux. There must be some better way to deal with constant irrational requests, and commands, than making vague promises while he stalled for time. In the long run, all of this would catch up with him. And in the short run, he had trouble sleeping at night, the lies and his own ineptitude eating at him. He should ask Anne what Richelieu had done. 

“Where is his son, the chevalier? He seems to have some control over his father.” Treville was interested in this answer on several fronts. It had been a few days since Anne had told him that the Chevalier de la Garmeaux was yet another pupil of Janvier, tutor to Romilly and Gaston. Treville wondered if Romilly would own the acquaintance or continue to not mention it when given the opportunity. When they had been discussing Garmeaux in Treville’s office more than a week ago, as well as Janvier, Treville thought that would have been a rather perfect moment that Romilly had missed.

“I do not know that father and son especially appreciate each other’s company. I think it is one of many reasons why the comte is often here at court and the chevalier is at his estate.”

“And the fact Louis probably doesn’t want him here,” Treville wanted to add to see the reaction, but did not.

“At least Lefévre isn’t here tonight,” Romilly grinned. “I heard a rumor the king was thinking of asking him. Can you believe it? A blacksmith in the reception hall. Perhaps his majesty is hoping he will accept an introduction at court in lieu of more traditional payments.”

This was undoubtedly an interesting piece of news Treville had not heard until this moment, but he did not have the opportunity to ask more. The door to the reception room clattered open and a voice shouted, “Move!” Treville knew that voice as well as any he’d ever heard. And it should be a very long way from the reception hall at the Louvre.

“D’Artagnan,” Treville said, moving directly for the door. D’Artagnan’s path had originally been aimed for the king, but now seeing Treville, he changed course.

“Minister. Thank God I finally found you. We need to talk.”

“What is this disturbance?” King Louis said, rising. Everyone who had been seated rose and two guards immediately flanked the king. “I was having such a delightful conversation, and then this. Why, it’s d’Artagnan! What are you doing here? I thought I had sent the Musketeers, well, off somewhere.”

The king came to a stop several feet away, and d’Artagnan bowed to him. “You did, indeed, your majesty. But I have ridden back to inform you Athos, that is the Captain of the Musketeers, has been taken prisoner.”

Over his military career, Treville had been given worse news. The death of friends, the loss of a battle, the massacre of twenty Musketeers in Savoy and knowing he was to blame. Yet, he had never been quite so stunned by or felt so sick at hearing any news. Athos captured. It was an impossible idea. “When?” Treville asked, gravel thick in his voice.

“Two days ago,” d’Artagnan answered. “I rode as hard as I could.”

Two days hard riding would put them at the border. If the Spanish had taken him, Athos would undoubtedly be in Spanish territory by now. But Aramis knew the area around Douai—he had picked that monastery for sentimental reasons. He could surely plot a rescue.

“Come,” Treville said, placing a tight grip on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “We will discuss a rescue.”

“A rescue?” the king said. “I am not so sure of that, Treville. Athos was taken by the Spanish, correct?” he asked d’Artagnan.

“We believe so, your majesty, but we don’t know for certain.”

“And then taken into Spanish territory, most likely?”

“That would be a logical assumption, your majesty.”

“Then I would think,” the king said, a sharp edge to his words and an even more pointed glare at Treville, “that some negotiations might not go amiss before we go bumbling into the country harboring my terrible mother, or have you forgotten her and the ostensible mission that has turned out so catastrophically?”

Treville had no trouble remembering Marie de Medici and what war with her was like. He certainly remembered it better than King Louis did. “I see your point, your majesty. And yet Athos is not some simple soldier who can be allowed to languish. He is the Captain of the Musketeers. His talent and knowledge are indispensable.”

“If he’s so smart, then how did he get taken? Tell me that.”

“He was ambushed,” d’Artagnan said, clearly making an effort not to yell.

“Fell right into a trap in other words.” The king waved his hand dismissively. “No, Treville, I forbid you to launch a rescue for this man at this time. Take d’Artagnan here and find out what you need to and then pass the information along to the diplomats and let them handle it.”

“But, your majesty,” d’Artagnan began, but Treville’s increasing pressure on his shoulder stopped him.

“Let’s go,” Treville whispered.

However, before they could leave, Garmeaux said loudly enough for Treville, the king, and most of the room to hear, “What? Don’t tell me France does have her agents in the North. The extreme North. I’m sure they could find help there.” The king scoffed and headed back to his seat. But Treville squinted at Garmeaux, now turned away from him. The heretofore troublesome comte was right. Treville needed to start thinking about how he might use French agents to save Athos. Start thinking like a man who knew what he was doing.

“Anyone who wishes to be a friend to the Musketeers is always someone I am willing to listen to,” Treville said. Garmeaux turned, a quizzical look on his face. But the king did not look thrilled at the exchange, so Treville led d’Artagnan with even more speed out of the room.

Once they gained the hallway and the door closed behind them, Treville altered his hold on d’Artagnan from directional to friendly. “Alright. Start from the beginning.”

The story didn’t take long to relate. Two nights before near the border while d’Artagnan, Porthos, and Aramis made camp, Athos rode onto the nearby town for supplies. Roughly a half hour later when the sun had set, but they still had enough light to work by, a young boy ran into camp. He asked if they were Musketeers, and when they said they were, the boy told them his parents and their friend had been attacked. D’Artagnan and Aramis saddled their horses and packed weapons and medical gear while Porthos calmed the boy. In minutes, they were all off.

“When we arrived at the boy’s wagon, his parents were there, his mother with a bolt in the stomach. They said a man had knocked Athos unconscious, thrown him over his horse, and then ridden off with three other men. We assumed we were too late to follow, but Porthos and I took off anyway, while Aramis stayed to help the woman. We rode on even after it was pitch black and didn’t stop until we hit the border, but there was no sign of Athos or indication of where they had taken him.”

Treville stopped d’Artagnan and steered him over to a bench. The hallway they were currently in was empty, and he didn’t want to wait until they reached his office to ask his questions. “And you’re sure it was the Spanish? I know that’s the most likely explanation, but let’s not assume the easy answer and miss something.”

“There was another man,” d’Artagnan whispered in reply. “The boy and his father pieced it together for us that Athos must have shot him with his pistol when he went after the boy. We picked over his body. Spanish style clothes, Spanish money and weapons. And the man said they rode north toward the border. Of course, if they were waiting for us, once they had Athos, they wouldn’t have ridden back toward us.”

“No, they would not have.” Treville sighed and rubbed his eyes, still unable to believe this was happening. “Porthos and Aramis. Where are they now?”

“They moved into the village where Athos was heading. They plan to patrol the border and ask questions, and then return to Paris for further instructions if they have no leads.” D’Artagnan paused, but his intense gaze bespoke that he had not finished yet. “We are going to rescue him, aren’t we? We aren’t really going to do nothing like the king suggests?”

“The king does not ‘suggest,’” Treville said, turning away from d’Artagnan and trying to add some gravity to his voice. “The king commands. It’s best you remember that.”

“But this is Athos!”

Treville got to his feet so he could glare down at d’Artagnan. “I know that.”

But then d’Artagnan stood, his big, sad brown eyes now level with Treville, and he could no longer play the gruff superior officer and politician. “I know,” he said gently this time. “The king is about to move from the reception to supper. His hope is those men in there will help fund this war. He will take it very amiss if I disturb him now. We will spend the night thinking on how we can rescue Athos if I am unable to convince his majesty to be more proactive militarily or diplomatically in Athos’s rescue. Speaking of.” Treville paused to wrap an arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. “Of all the diplomats who may be able to help us, Paget is the most likely to help. I know the king told me to speak with the diplomats, but I think it would be best if he heard the story from you.”

“Where can I find him?”

“Right back where we were. You had better catch him before they go into eat. After, back to the garrison, but do not get them stirred up.”

With a nod, d’Artagnan set off back towards the reception room, while Treville continued toward his office. He needed time to think.

Athos a prisoner. D’Artagnan was right. No matter what the king commanded, he would not sit here idly while Athos’s captors had their way with him. Treville needed Athos back. He prayed Paget truly could help them, satisfying the king’s desire for diplomacy and Treville’s utter need of Athos.

“Treville!”

He had just reached the turn to the hallway with his office. Racing down the marble floor after him, though, was Anne. She looked as if her fire could enflame the entire palace in a heartbeat. Her hair was coming loose and he had never seen her move so fast—truly at a sprint. When she got close enough that he could see her face, her expression of anger and confusion made him long to take her in his arms and tell her lies that everything would be alright. But he knew he couldn’t hold her or lie to her, so he settled for a hand on her upper arm. “Let’s go to my office.”

“We have to get him back,” she hissed as they walked at a respectable pace.

“We will,” Treville said, even though he had no idea how they would accomplish that. But Anne was with him now. He couldn’t ask for a better ally in this.

“Do you have a plan?” she asked while he unlocked his door.

“No, but together we will come up with something.”


	13. Chapter 13

She couldn’t understand how he could be so calm! Athos was a prisoner and Treville seemed to take the news no more poorly than if he’d been informed Athos had scratched his finger sharpening his sword. Then again, he was an old soldier, an officer, and used to keeping a calm head in a crisis. It was a skill she also had; she just wasn’t employing it at the moment particularly well.

Once in the office with the door closed and locked behind them, she stormed from one end to the other, barely able to contain her rage. “We have to do something. Where is he? What do we actually know?”

“Calm yourself. I’m just as upset as you are, but raging about my office won’t help Athos. I need you calm and thinking straight.”

“Thinking straight?” she spat out as she stomped by him on her latest pass across the room. “I am thinking straight. If I weren’t, I would already be riding north. What I want to know is what we’re going to do to get him back.”

“We are going to come up with a sane, workable plan that we will not put into action until I have spoken with the king tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning! Unacceptable.” She stopped in front of him where he leaned against his desk. “He needs us now. Do you think he would wait until tomorrow morning for either of us?”

Treville reached out, put a hand on her shoulder. It was an unexpected gesture, and she wanted to both shrug him off and lean into his touch. But at the moment, they needed each other to help Athos, so she did nothing. “He would think the problem through and come up with the plan most likely to work,” Treville said evenly.

She sighed, knowing he was right as far as how Athos would handle the situation, but still uncertain that waiting to talk to Louis in the morning would be useful. “But we have to do something now. I have to. I can’t just stand here doing nothing.”

“D’Artagnan is talking to Paget. He’s our best diplomatic hope, don’t you agree?”

She clenched her jaw. Paget probably was the diplomat in Louis’s service most likely to want to and be able to help them. He wasn’t an idiot, knew the Spanish court and military inside and out, and he liked Athos from fencing matches. D’Artagnan she was less enthusiastic with trusting. “Why didn’t you go talk to him? D’Artagnan is not exactly known for his eloquence.”

“And I am?” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.

“But you’re a man people listen to. D’Artagnan is a silly boy.”

“It may have escaped your notice, but d’Artagnan is becoming a man.”

She shook her head and pulled away from him. The last thing she wanted tonight was to be troubled with d’Artagnan. She resumed pacing, but at a less frantic rate. “So, let’s say Louis refuses to pursue any diplomatic course with reasonable haste, and he continues to refuse to allow you to launch a rescue. What do we do?”

“I don’t know. First of all, we need to figure out where he is. He may have been taken at the northern border, listening for rumblings of Marie de Medici, but that doesn’t mean he’s still in that area or that Marie or the Spanish had anything to do with it. And if it was the Spanish, with post riders, he could be halfway to Madrid. And if he was taken by Marie’s men, he could already be in Brussels. Not easy places for me to send soldiers without drawing the king’s, and the world’s, attention.”

She came to a halt and looked at him, eyes wide, knowing exactly what she had to do. “I won’t draw any attention. Not only do I know how to keep myself hidden, even if I am found, it doesn’t reflect on you. I’m a half-crazed wife looking for her husband. You and Louis could both easily deny knowledge of me.”

“It will be extremely dangerous. And we still don’t even know where he is.”

She laughed and resumed her pacing. “You honestly think calling it ‘dangerous’ will stop me? I’m leaving. I’m going to find him now.”

“No,” Treville said, shooting out a hand to grab her by the arm on her next pass. “We wait until morning. The king may still approve something if all goes well with Paget. And Paget may be able to help us.”

“Let me go.” She tried to pull her arm free, but his grip proved too fierce. “I have to go find him! Don’t you want him back?”

“Not at the risk of something happening to you, too.”

She went limp, his words the last she had expected to hear.

“The time may very well come when you have to go, but we are going to make certain there is no better way.” He spoke softly and still held her arm. “We’re going to make sure you’re prepared with supplies and information. I won’t send you off just to die trying to save him.”

What could she say to such a speech? Did he really care so much? Had her first assessment about their connection in the closet over Athos’s shoulder been right? No, he was only worried for Athos’s sake. God, Athos! What would she do without him? The very idea made her wild with grief.

“If anything happens to him,” she began, her voice hoarse, and she had to pause. She looked up into Treville’s piercing eyes and said, “You, of all people, understand."

Treville leaned in and kissed her, violent and hard.

To Anne’s mind, it felt as though he put into this kiss all of the feelings he had been suppressing since Athos left. That he had to unleash them in the face of what had happened to Athos and his inability to do anything about it. That was at least how she was kissing him. She couldn’t keep thinking about Athos, but she also couldn’t think about anything else. She wanted to rant and cry and tear apart the world. But she couldn’t do any of that. She couldn’t even start doing anything productive until morning. She needed something tonight, and Treville seemed to need the same.

Her hand reached up to his neck, and she found herself despising his new ministerial garb. The embroidered blue jacket set off his already ridiculously blue eyes. The chocolate brown doublet clung to his frame, giving the impression that he had the body of a man half his age. And the lacy collars on all his new shirts provided just the right hint of ornament. But between those clothes and the medal perpetually dangling from his neck, he might be devastatingly handsome, but he was a pain in the ass to get naked. And she suddenly needed him naked. Needed comfort she knew she could find here with him and nowhere else tonight.

The long jacket came off easily enough, and she made sure his medal landed on the desk and not on the floor. But the rest of it! And he didn’t seem to be doing much better with her dress. He barely had anything unhooked on her bodice. His fingers fumbled with all of her underskirts. It was intolerable.

“God,” she hissed in his mouth. “Let me.” She pulled up her skirt and started unlacing things underneath. She was so focused on her task, and keeping her mouth on him somewhere, that she didn’t realize he’d been seeing to his own laces.

But it became obvious enough when he moved out from between her and the desk and slid behind her. He pushed her against the desk, and she had to let go of her dress to catch herself. But he took up her skirts with one hand and reached between her legs with the other. She moaned at his rough touch, whimpered when one of his slick fingers brushed against her clit.

Then he laid his body across her back and braced them both with his strong hands before pushing into her. She held herself up with straight arms, taking all of him in, loving the feel of him inside her. He was bigger than Athos and felt different, but every man felt a little different, felt like himself. And every man took a woman in his own way. Treville was taking her hard, so hard that perhaps for two seconds in a row, she forgot Athos was being held prisoner and there was nothing she could do about it tonight.

“Harder,” she moaned.

Treville took her hips in his hands and pounded into her over and over, his pace relentless. And not enough. Still, not enough.

“More! Dammit, I need more.”

A hand moved from one of her hips and to the middle of her back. With a strong shove, he pushed her face down to the desk. From this angle, he could go deeper, give her more of himself, yet it wasn’t enough. She still remembered that Athos needed her, and she was doing nothing to help him.

She screamed into her fist to keep from crying. She had to forget, if only for a second. Athos would understand. They had both spent years searching for ways to forget.

“More,” she growled, now more angry than sad. “More!”

The hand on her back returned to her hip and pulled along with the other. She’d never been fucked so hard in her life. It felt so good, but she still needed more. She needed to come, to feel her body shatter, to find those few moments guaranteed to blot out what was happening to Athos.

She stood back up and shifted away from Treville. There wasn’t a decent flat space in this office for two adults. Except the floor. While coming to this conclusion, she undid enough buttons and hooks on her bodice to finally slip out of her dress. Standing in just her shift, stockings, and boots, she looked at Treville and then the floor.

“No,” he said. “I’m too old to fuck on the floor.”

She took off her shift, with no false modesty about how she looked with her stockings up to mid-thigh, cunt dripping in between, and just her boots and choker to go along with it. Still, Treville looked askance. Fine. She would find a way, she swore to herself while she shoved his pants down to the top of the boots. She would need to get those the hell off. The closest place to sit him down was the edge of the desk, so she spun him around and pushed him down.

“We could go to my room,” he said. “There is a hidden passageway.”

“I need to forget now,” she said, pulling off the first boot. “You need to make me forget.” The second boot went flying, and then his pants, underclothes, and socks puddled on the floor. “Do you understand?” she said, standing up. “I have to have this. Now.”

He pulled her up against him, once more fiercely claiming her mouth with his own. But he was still wearing too much. She wanted the feel of his skin. His skin on hers. But she also needed him back inside her. She stepped back with her body, but never broke the kiss. Once she had his legs pushed together, she got up on the desk, straddling him. He immediately understood her intention, and guided himself back inside her.

From her perch on his lap, she set to work on the rest of the buttons on his doublet. Their bodies were too close together for her to open the ones at the bottom, and she was ready to rip them off when Treville sensibly removed it over his head. His shirt followed a heartbeat later, and finally, their flesh was pressed together.

“Yes,” she said, throwing her head back as he sucked her throat. “This is what I want. Your skin on mine. You inside me.” Although it wasn’t quite perfect yet. She wrapped her left leg around his back for a better angle. Now she could grind her hips against him. And his hand clasped her ass, helping her move. “Fuck, you are too strong to say you’re too old for anything.”

“You’re too beautiful not to make an effort for.”

She groaned as she rode him. They kissed and sucked at each other, dug their fingers into the other’s flesh. She gripped him more tightly to her every time. She thought of Athos and how frightened she was for him. But Treville held her more forcefully and whispered in her ear that everything would be alright.

Yet she wasn’t going to come like this. And she needed to come. A different angle. As Treville had earlier pressed her down onto the desk, she now pushed him back. She leaned forward, digging her fingertips into his chest for leverage. Once she had the perfect angle, she reached between their bodies and touched herself. It didn’t take any pressure at all, and in seconds, she was rocking back and forth, coming all over Treville’s cock.

She felt so spent when she finished, she collapsed on his chest. But by the way he moved, she could tell he had not finished yet. She moved her hips, and then let him take over, thrusting into her, directing her motion for his own pleasure. He grunted several times and then pulled her off him, spending on her lower back. For long seconds, they panted against each other. She would hardly call her position comfortable, but she was in no hurry to move. Treville, it turned out, felt differently.

“When I said I was too old to fuck on the floor I meant my back doesn’t do well on hard surfaces.”

“Sorry,” she said, climbing off him, but not looking at him. As soon as she was upright, his spend started oozing down her. She needed something to wipe off with. She snatched up her underskirt, ready to clean herself, when Treville offered up his own shirt. She nodded and took it.

“As I was trying to suggest earlier, there is a passage to my rooms. I can get a clean shirt in twenty seconds. You have a little farther to go for a fresh skirt.”

“Thank you,” she said, everything she had not wanted to think about coming back to her, including how Athos would feel about this, assuming he was still alive to care and she would ever see him again to confess.

“Come up with me. Stay the night.” His voice was so soft that she could credibly pretend she hadn’t heard. But staying with Treville was a sound idea. They could discuss plans to rescue Athos, and she would be available should he receive important information. Her desire to stay certainly had nothing to do with not wishing to be alone.

“Fine,” was her answer as she slipped her shift over her head. “We need to talk.”

He paused while pulling on his underclothes. The mild look of concern on his face, she realized, hid deeper surprise and worry. Her own face flushed and she had to glance away when she added, “About a plan to rescue Athos.”

“Of course,” he said, voice as natural as ever. God, this had been a mistake. Maybe she should go home. Start packing. Sharpen her knives.

Arms heaped with clothes, Treville reached behind a mounted sword. What had appeared to be seams in the wall actually turned out to be a door leading to narrow stone steps. It was good work. Perhaps even better than the Cardinal’s secret cabinet. She nodded, impressed. “Did you know about this when you picked your office and your rooms?”

Treville nodded. “Richelieu, if you can believe it, told me about it when I insisted he couldn’t possibly know something, and he wanted to prove that he knew everything.”

“He always knew.”

“I see, and appreciate, that now. Coming?” He lit a lamp on the table next to this new entryway, and swung it into the void. She heeded its call, and headed up the steps, waiting not far inside while he closed the door.


	14. Chapter 14

When they reached his rooms, Treville tossed his clothes and boots on the first chair he came to. Then he dug out his shirt, making certain it got into the basket for the laundry. Anne, meanwhile, draped her dress elegantly over the back of the settee to keep it from getting wrinkled. She finally removed her boots and stockings, putting them beside the settee. Every seating area but one chair now covered in clothes, she continued on into the bedroom.

She stood in the middle of the floor, looking as if she couldn’t decide which way to go or what to do. He put the lamp on the bedside table and pulled out the wine and two glasses he kept in the bottom cupboard. He turned to ask her if she wanted any, but her still gaze stopped him from speaking. He could only stare at her and wait while she worked something out for herself.

And then without a word or warning, she lay down on the bed.

Something…else was clearly going on with her, but what it was couldn’t be less clear to him. More importantly, he didn’t know how to ask her. He could only guess at what she needed. She turned on her side, her back to him, but she scooted to the far side of the bed, in invitation for him to join her, he thought. Earlier, in her passion, she had mentioned her desire to feel his skin against hers. So even though she still wore her shift, he stepped out of his underclothes, put out the lamp, and joined her in bed.

If he didn’t know what she wanted, he knew his own mind no better. Yes, he had quietly longed for her since they had said their goodbye to Athos, but if anything was ever to happen between them, he'd known it was going to happen with Athos when he returned. But news of Athos’s capture had unhinged him, and somehow he had suddenly felt that Anne could see him through this and help him keep his head long enough to save Athos. He needed Anne tonight and couldn’t wait for Athos. He hoped Athos would understand when they got him back. Because they would get him back. For now, he wrapped himself tight up to her back. She clutched the hand he put around her in both of hers and kissed it. He let out the breath he had been holding and nuzzled the loose hairs at her neck.

“Tell me again exactly where they were when Athos was taken.”

And Treville told her, as well as all of the other information d’Artagnan had given him. She asked what he knew of the roads, terrain, sympathies of the people. They debated if it were more likely that the Spanish or Marie de Medici were responsible, and both decided the Spanish more likely. However, they did not agree on whether the ambush had been set for the random Musketeer scouting party (his stance), or if they had particularly been hoping for Athos (Anne’s position). He didn’t think it mattered hugely one way or another—whoever had Athos would soon know who they had as prisoner, and the outcome would be the same. Namely, they would know what a valuable prisoner they held. That might lead to some expense, but Treville believed there would be a real chance to pay a ransom for Athos.

But Anne saw conspiracies. The Spanish wanted the man who made the Musketeers tick. They wanted the best swordsman in France. They wanted, most of all, a man intimately familiar with France’s war plans and secrets. And if they knew of his relationship with Treville, they would try to use that as leverage to find out everything. “Imagine what the Spanish would do if they knew Athos could tell them who the Dauphin’s father really is.”

“King Louis is that boy’s father, and we will never say a word differently, even if only to each other.”

“I appreciate your point, but I hope you appreciate mine, as well.”

He kissed the back of her neck and rubbed his thumb over the fingers still holding his hand. “I do. But as I said the first night you and Athos came here, I don’t trust even my walls.”

“Then why ask me to stay?”

“The Minister of War sleeping with a married woman? I can’t picture anything the court would find more boring.”

“But married to one of your soldiers?”

“Infidelity in the military is particularly boring. Unless Athos calls me out and kills me in a duel.”

She kissed the knuckles of the hand she held. “Would he kill you in a duel? You are an excellent swordsman.”

“If I could have dueled Athos in my prime while he was in his prime, well, that would have been a sword fight for the ages. As it is now, I’m not a gambling man, but I would certainly encourage Porthos to bet against me.”

She chuckled but it was hollow. “Would he mind though? I know what he asked of us before he left, but this is different, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think he will be upset.” As he spoke these words, he prayed they were true. If they were not, he truly didn’t know what he would do. “I…I have a real affection for you, Anne. And we both needed each other tonight. If there is anyone who understands doing what you must to survive the night, it’s Athos.”

She flipped over and faced him. Her mouth, that mouth he had spent so much time studying of late, was wet, her lips slightly parted. They met each other in a kiss that was awkward and sweet, and even melancholy. Anne broke the kiss so she could wiggle out of her shift, which she threw over his head onto the floor. Holding him close, she kissed him again, long and slow, looking more to inspire comfort than heat.

When she finally broke the kiss, she buried her face to his chest, and he happily held her there with his fingers entwined in her hair. He kissed the top of her head. “Now sleep. Whatever happens tomorrow, I predict it will be long and trying.”

“I usually sleep with my favorite dagger under the pillow.”

“Where is it? I’ll get it for you.”

She squeezed him and kissed his chest. “No worries. I’m sure you will be protection enough.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “I was counting on you to protect me.”

Her laugh made him lift her chin so he could see her smile. She didn't smile enough, he decided. “It wasn’t with my things I brought up. I must have forgotten my belt in your office.”

“Let me go get it. While I don’t think we will be the scandal you fear, there’s no reason to flaunt it by having your clothes and weaponry laying around my office.” He kissed her forehead, and she pressed her lips to his chin before he rolled out of bed.

He debated slipping back into his underclothes, but decided against it. So he relit the lamp and headed back through the sitting room to the secret door. Up here, the latch was cleverly disguised in the wall sconce and was activated by pushing on the _fleur de lis_ at the base.

Back in his office, he had no trouble finding Anne’s belt, her dagger in its sheath hanging from it. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to see if they had left anything else behind, he did a quick sweep of the room. His medal rested atop his desk, and since he wore it every day now, he picked it up to take upstairs with him. And somehow, one of his socks had ended up halfway across the room. But what was that all the way over by the door?

It was a folded piece of parchment, which he picked up and turned over in his hand. There was no seal, and the ragged edge made it look as though it had been hastily torn from a larger piece. One hand holding the lamp, and the other full of belt, medal, and now parchment, Treville took it all back to his desk.

He paused to look at the desk. God, Anne had been absolutely amazing. So beautiful, but more importantly, she had poured every ounce of feeling into her lovemaking. Her passion, as well as her fear and anger and worry, it all ended as up a part of the experience with her. He wondered if she realized she did it, and if she didn’t, if she would be embarrassed to know that he saw it. He wanted to unravel all of her mysteries. He wanted to take her apart, bit by bit, in bed (and on his desk, and anywhere else she would let him and he could manage) to see all of her. He wanted to talk to her, but he suspected that would be harder. More than anything else, he wanted to do it with Athos. They needed him back, for his own sake and for theirs.

Waking from his daydream, he set everything down on the desk except the parchment. That he unfolded. There was no signature, or salutation, for that matter. Only a few scribbled lines that read: _There is an inn in Douai called the Swan. The proprietor is a friend of France. He might help you find your missing soldier_.

Treville bristled at the notion of Athos being “missing.” But the intention was good. One of the dozens upon dozens of people in the reception room had heard the conversation, perhaps specifically what Garmeaux had said at the end, and decided to help. Actually, it could be any person who had heard about what had happened—it didn’t necessarily have to be someone who had been there. Treville wondered if it might not be Garmeaux himself. He had set himself in such opposition to Treville, perhaps the comte did not think he could say something to Treville directly?

Whatever the truth of the note’s origins, Treville felt it to be true. He realized that was absurd, yet he believed it. Surely if anyone other than Athos were missing, he would be more suspect, but he simply couldn’t be. Obviously, the next step was to show the note to Anne and see if she felt the same. And yet, he had no doubt she would.

***

The room was completely black as always when he was in it alone. The blackness didn’t bother Athos, actually, certainly not as much as the gag in his mouth, or stiffness of his legs or numbness of his behind. He had spent more than his fair share of time in darkness, real and metaphorical, in the past seven years, and he had come to terms with it. But he longed to take a deep breath through his mouth, to suck in all the air he could, gratuitously breathing as much as he desired. However, the gag only came out twice a day when he was fed.

Although he only ever saw the barest hints of anything when his captors entered with a single lamp, Athos suspected he was in a house in a city or at least a village, the occasional clop of horses’ hooves on cobbles and the ringing of a blacksmith pounding metal, reaching his ears. But his captors must fear he might cry for help, which, of course, he certainly would have if he’d thought it would help him in the least. Although, so far he did not know if screaming for help would lead to his rescue or harsher treatment, and he preferred, at this point, to give his captors no reason to be less kind to him than they had so far been.

A large man entered the room with an oil lamp. Under ordinary circumstances, Athos would not have found the light enough to read by, but now he was completely blinded. So he did not see the face of the man standing behind the lamp, only heard the voice say, “He’ll be easier to move unconscious.”

Athos felt a profound pain in his head, and then the light was once again no more.


	15. Chapter 15

Anne pressed her ear just a little harder to the hinge of the door. She recognized d’Artagnan’s voice and thought she heard the name Paget. Treville would probably repeat the conversation to her. He might not even mind if she simply walked into his office. But of all the Musketeers, d’Artagnan was the one she still couldn’t manage even a wary relationship with. Would he really never get over something so insignificant as being framed for a murder she committed? She gave him the best sex of his life, after all.

No. Best to stay out of sight and listen.

“So, he is willing but unable, is what you’re telling me,” Treville said, not sounding happy in the least. He wasn’t often happy in her experience. But he had smiled when he left the bed that morning, and she might have as well. Although neither did so for long, quickly remembering what they had to do.

“More or less,” d’Artagnan answered. “He said it will take at least a day to draft a proposal, as many days as it takes Louis to decide to read it, and then he will take it to some Spanish diplomat he knows in Brussels. Assuming Marie de Medici hasn’t already swayed everyone there against any proposal he might make.”

“Did he seem positive about the chances of the king backing the proposal he draws up?”

“Every time he mentioned Louis, he sighed heavily and equivocated.”

The men fell silent, and Anne thought she could see Treville’s expression—a dour frown, lips slightly crooked, as if he’d smelled something off, head tilted. He was thinking. But what would he say?

“Very well. Go back to him and tell him to start the process.”

“But what about Athos? We can’t just do nothing.”

“And we won’t,” Treville said so softly she barely heard. “But you shouldn’t be part of what I’m going to do next. Talk to Paget and then return to the garrison. The recruits could use some help.”

“Recruits?” d’Artagnan said, and she could hear the incredulousness seeping through that single word. “Tell me what you have planned to rescue Athos and let me help with that.”

“D’Artagnan, no. I need you to do this for your sake and for mine. The king said there was to be no military involvement in rescuing Athos, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“How can you say you don’t intend to rescue him? Do you know how much he loves you?”

“Do you know how much I love him?” Treville growled, sounding truly angry for the first time since word of Athos’s situation reached them. “I will not abandon him, but you cannot be involved.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I could ask you the same.” Treville sighed so loudly Anne could hear him even here behind the door at the bottom of his secret staircase. “Please trust that I have a plan that will hopefully see Athos freed sooner rather than later, but without you getting court martialed or me hanged for treason. It’s best you do not know. I want to keep you safe, as well. Or don’t you know how much I love you, Porthos, and Aramis?”

And now she could envision Treville smiling at d’Artagnan, a smile so much sweeter than you expected from that worn but handsome face. She could grow to love that smile as much as she loved Athos’s rare signs of happiness. She wondered if she might see them smiling at each other someday. Or both of them smiling at her.

“If you change your mind,” d’Artagnan said seriously, “you know I would give up my commission and risk hanging and worse for Athos.”

“I do know that, but I’m not sure Constance would be pleased with me.”

There were some scuffling noises, some slaps (maybe a fatherly pat to the back?) and then a door closing. Anne waited a few more seconds before reaching for the latch, but before she could open the door, Treville said, “He is gone, Anne. You can come out.”

He had called her Anne. He’d started doing so last night. The sound of her name on his lips made her ache and shiver, but she took a deep breath and composed herself before walking through the door, as though he’d said nothing special at all. “You’re good,” she said. “What gave me away?”

“My knowledge of your nature. I didn’t hear you or see anything if that’s what you mean.”

He was sitting behind his desk, and she came up and half leaned, half sat on the edge, facing him. They had been like this the first day she had returned and offered her services to him. He’d been leery and dismissive that day. And now he was about to trust her with the most important mission he could possibly give anyone. After a short hesitation, he reached out his hand and ran his fingers up and down the top of her thigh.

“When you told d’Artagnan you had a plan, you meant me,” she said.

He nodded. “I still worry about you going, but I know you’re the best person for the job. Which would probably be true even if the king sanctioned me to launch a military rescue. What do you need?”

“Money, weapons, my custom clothes, maps, a good horse, and a warm cloak.”

“Go get your clothes and weapons. I’ll see to the money, maps, and horse. Meet back here in an hour.”

She leaned in and kissed him fiercely.

***

Packing more than one dress was out of the question if she also wanted clean shifts and stockings, which she most decidedly did. All of her weapons, save her spare pistol, she had strapped to her body. Spare powder and shot she carried separately, assuming there would be a saddlebag. She hadn’t specifically requested one, but Treville had been on enough missions to not overlook such a thing when he got her a horse.

The important fact was she was going to get Athos. Surely he was still safe. She and Treville had talked through a million scenarios the night before, and all sensible ones led to the conclusion that Athos’s captors would have to be utter fools not to appreciate his worth. Of course, they might be utter fools. Yet they had set an ambush good enough to catch Athos, and that argued against stupidity. Still, all she could think about every moment she didn’t keep her mind deeply occupied was what if she was too late? What if Athos were dead? Permanently maimed? Mentally crushed? She thought he would be strong even in the worst circumstances, but imprisonment could have awful effects on the soundest mind. Might Athos lose his? What would she do with him if he did?

She shook her head, hoping it would dismiss the thought. Athos was alive, with no lasting damage. And to make sure of that, she was going to get him now, no waiting for Paget or Louis.

The actual question was whether or not she could trust the unsigned note that had been slipped under Treville’s door in the night.

For reasons she could not explain, he believed the information about an agent at the Swan Inn in Douai was well-meant and correct. She, however, doubted everyone and everything. Except Treville. When, exactly, had that happened? It had started when their eyes met over Athos’s shoulder and something passed between them. But still, this was an odd sensation. Trusting someone.

It only went so far, though. She trusted Treville to tell her the truth as he believed it to be. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be wrong.

At this point, she was becoming rather expert at sneaking into the palace. In fact, she no longer even bothered to sneak so much as walk right in. She really ought to bring it to Treville’s attention before she left. Although, what would happen if Louis were assassinated? A regency for his little bastard led by… whom? The queen would fight for it, but she wasn’t especially popular, especially now while France was at war with Spain. In fact, if Louis were assassinated in the palace, everyone would assume the queen’s complicity, at the least.

So, if not Queen Anne, who else? Marie de Medici was even more odious to most people, especially those old enough to remember her rebellion and regency before Louis came of age. However, she had Spanish support, troops, and money. Gaston was probably more likely, Louis’s oldest legitimate brother. (God, if she started considering all of Henri IV’s bastards, she might be here all day.) Gaston was reputed to be stupid, vain, and ambitious. It’s why Louis wouldn’t allow him in Paris. But for all his shortcomings, which were manifold, he had the largess of the Duke of Lorraine. Outside of men who had the title king or emperor, Lorraine was far and away the best armed, and unlike many of the men with the title king or emperor, smart enough to know what to do with his army. And the only reason such an intelligent man harbored such a dolt as Gaston was his deep hatred of Louis.

But what did any of this mean to Athos, prisoner likely of the Spanish? Without Louis to fight, a Musketeer with vital military information would be expendable, entirely without worth. Yes, she must speak with Treville about palace security before she left.

Treville’s office door was unlocked, and she simply knocked and entered. He wasn’t there. Panic washed over her like a sudden hard downpour. He wouldn’t have left the door unlocked. There were too many secrets in this office, just waiting for someone clever to find them. In different circumstances not so long ago, she would have been just such a person. In point of fact, she had noticed some files on the shelves to the left of the door that she longed to leaf through. And that didn’t even take into account what he surely had locked in the desk.

“How dare you think about that now!” she silently chastised herself. Something must have happened to Treville. She must find him and save him before she could leave. Athos would never forgive her if she didn’t.

“Ah, good. You’re here.” Treville emerged from the secret door, carrying a bag of…she didn’t care what! He was here. And fine. Good God, when had she become such an idiot?

“Are you alright?” he asked, setting the bulging bag on his desk.

More than anything, she wanted to hurry forward and press her mouth hard against his. But there must be limits to her idiocy. They had helped each other last night, and because of that, she had allowed her imagination to run away with her. She cleared her throat. “Fine. What’s in the bag?”

“Ah!” he said with a smile. “You rattled off a list of things you need, and it was said you would get some and I would get some others, but I don’t think we ever decided who would provide the cloak.”

He pulled a cloak so beautiful out of the bag, she lost the grip on her own bag. It clattered to the floor, the shot tied to its side making quite the racket, but that didn’t matter. This cloak! Strictly speaking it wasn’t actually beautiful. Thick black wool, well worn, fox fur collar. It had probably been on numerous campaigns with Treville, seen him through countless freezing nights. Most Parisians with an eye for clothes would call it old and plain, but it was extremely well made and would serve its purpose twice as well as any fancier cloak purchased in the most fashionable shop.

“That will do quite well,” she said, walking over and raising what she tried to make appear an uninterested eyebrow. “Thank you.”

They held the cloak between them for a moment, but then she held it alone. Not wanting to continue ogling it like a simpleton, she started folding the cloak, hoping she could make it fit it her bag. She could certainly leave behind the warm cloak of her own that she had packed.

“Sturdy, warm gloves?” he asked, holding his hands up and wiggling fingers encased in faded brown leather. Like the cloak, they were not especially attractive, but they were unquestionably well made. However, she had slipped a pair of Athos’s out of his room at the garrison after he left, and his gloves definitely fit her better than Treville’s would. Besides, she and Athos seemed destined to always have each other’s gloves.

“I should be fine,” she said a bit thickly.

He nodded. “What do you have for weapons?”

Now this was a conversation she could handle. It did not bring up feelings about either Athos or Treville. She flipped back her light riding cloak to reveal her belt, pistol and favorite dagger hanging from it. Then she reached into her right hip pocket. Only, it wasn’t a pocket. It was an open slit that allowed her access to her thigh, where she had another, smaller dagger strapped. She pulled out her hand, complete with blade, waited for Treville’s nod, then put it back. The next blade came out of her left sleeve, and she showed him her spare pistol at the top of her bag.

“Is that all?”

“All?” she asked, with a chuckle. “Three blades and two pistols on one woman about to travel hundreds of miles alone. Yes. That’s all.”

Treville reached into the bag he’d taken the cloak from and pulled out a short throwing blade in a sheath attached to a small strap. “Go sit on my desk by the chair,” he ordered, walking past her to lock the door.

She did as told, and she waited for him, trying to calm her mixed emotions of longing for him, that went beyond simple comfort, and dreadful worry for Athos. But she managed not to come out of her skin before he made it around the desk and sat in the chair. She felt caught up for a moment in the blueness of his eyes and just stared. When he rubbed her knee, she exhaled.

“You need a boot knife,” said Treville. “Left or right?”

She thought about the possible instances when she might need to throw a knife from her boot. All argued the same. “Right.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and held out a hand. “Foot.”

She offered him her right foot, which he set down on the chair between his legs. With fingers she already loved for their deftness even with gloves still on, he unbuckled the top of her boot to put the strap around her calf. He had to go to the last hole to affix the buckle, but it looked like it would work. To be certain, he put the dagger in the sheath and tugged. The strap wasn’t moving.

“Reach for it now without thinking.”

She dropped her hand to her calf, about an inch behind where the dagger handle actually was. He adjusted the strap to move the blade to precisely where she would instinctively grab. His fingers lightly tracked up and down her calf when he said, “Reach for it again.”

She did, and her hand landed just where he’d put the knife. His hand found her fingers and stroked gently over them. “Perfect,” she said.

“Let’s get your boot back on and make sure it doesn’t show,” he said. But buckling her boot back on was different than when he had undone it. The first he had certainly done with care, but this he did with intent. His knuckles brushed her leg at every opportunity, and his eyes were either fixed on where he touched or catching her eye. She had to fight to contain a shiver. And she felt herself getting wet.

When he finished with the last buckle, he stroked her knee. “Perhaps I should check the strap on your thigh.” Without waiting for her reply, his hands went up either side of her right thigh until they came to the dagger. “Yes. It seems secure.”

But he didn’t stop there. His right hand continued up, and she soon realized that she was beyond wet. A sigh she couldn’t contain escaped her, and her head tilted back. “Perhaps I should take my gloves off.”

Her head snapped back up to look him directly in the eye. “Don’t you dare.”

He grinned, an absolutely filthy grin, as his fingers continued up. When they found her, they simply did something to her. Treville could touch her in ways she didn’t even know if she fully understood. And now with those gloves on, cool and smooth, ready to soak her in.

“I think you’re ready for your mission,” he said, pushing what she guessed were two fingers into her dripping cunt. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do when you leave here.”

She couldn’t believe he was actually expecting her to discuss her mission while his fingers felt around inside her. Then again, if any man would do such a thing, Treville was that man. She thought it must be what she liked best about him.

“Ride north,” she panted. At this point, she had her hands at her sides on the desk, supporting herself so she didn’t collapse. But her elbows seemed about ready to give. Perhaps she should hold on to Treville. “Where is my horse?”

“I love that you can still think when I’m doing this to you.” He pulled a slicked up finger out of her and went to work on her clit. She nearly screamed. “I rented a horse from Brodeur. Do you know his stable?”

“Yes,” she said, squirming to give Treville a better angle at her. And because she couldn’t stay still. “You trust him?”

“I got his son a commission with a good regiment, but not the Musketeers. He’s forever grateful.”

“Good saddlebags?”

“The best,” he answered as he moved his finger from her clit and shoved…so many fingers, so much thicker in the leather gloves, inside her. He fucked her so hard with his fingers, in fact, he pushed her back across the desk.

He stood and fucked her even more with his hand. His mouth met hers, fierce and brief. “So, once you have your horse and you’re riding north, what will you do?”

“Go to the town where d’Artagnan left the wounded woman and see if she or her husband has news of Athos.”

“From there?” he asked with a particularly hard thrust.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. “If they know nothing, on to the Swan in Douai.”

He pulled his fingers out so that he could concentrate again on her clit. She, meanwhile, gripped the edge of the desk until she was sure her knuckles must be white. “If you find out nothing in Douai?”

“Burn a swath to Brussels, put a dagger to Marie de Medici’s throat, and demand to have Athos back.”

Treville’s touch became more teasing. In other words, a gesture designed to get her even closer to her climax that was already so near. “Try again.”

“Depending on information gathered, continue the search or return to Paris. If I don’t return, I send a message by code, or else you will send out the cavalry to look for me.”

“You damned well better believe it,” he said with vigor in his voice and hand.

She gripped his right shoulder and pulled him close so that she could scream into his left as she came. Every part of her spasmed, and even muffled, she didn’t understand how the entire palace hadn’t heard her in her ecstasy. And she kept coming and coming, until she wrapped her arms around Treville’s back and pulled him tight, her yells of passion now surely entering his very body.

She panted uncontrollably when he finally took his hand away. His arms now embraced her, held her as close as she held him. He kissed her temple, and then whispered in her ear, “Go find him. Bring him back to us.”

Forcing down a whimper, she squeezed him. “I will. I promise I will. You won’t see me until you see him.”


	16. Chapter 16

Athos woke to more daylight than he had seen in…how many days had he been in captivity? He really could not say with the number of blows he had taken to the head. He tried not to allow the disorientation of not knowing the day affect him, but he found himself thinking that if he only knew how much time had passed, he wouldn’t be so wrong footed about everything. His rational mind knew this was nonsense—that he would be able to focus once he accepted how unnecessary it was to know the day of the week—but his rational mind spent very little time in the fore.

He shook his head and told himself to concentrate. What did he know? He had been ambushed and taken, he knew not when, but it did not matter. He must escape for the sake of France, as well as for Anne and Treville, not to mention his own sanity. For the first time that he could remember, he had a small amount of light, and if he were not mistaken, he was being moved. Yes, now that he was waking fully, he could feel the movement of a cart, the crunching of gravel under wheels. A prisoner’s best opportunity for escape was when he was being transported, which explained why he had been knocked out.

Listening more closely, he heard no one else in the cart near him. He had been left unattended under the assumption he was unconscious, a most favorable oversight for him. But what were his bonds? Cold steel encircled his wrists, but when he wiggled his feet, he found they were only tied with rope. He slowly reached his bound hands above his head and as he thought he could discern in the faint light, the cart was covered in cloth far enough above him that he could sit up without anyone outside being the wiser. He did so, and found he could pull his feet up to him. He regretted the manacles around his wrists, but he could still use his fingers to work the knot holding his feet together. It would be difficult to fight his captors with bound hands, but he would get nowhere with his feet tied, so if he had to suffer a bond he could not break, he would take the one he had.

A horse rode up beside the cart, and Athos stilled and listened. “Is all well?” asked a man’s voice in French.

“No trouble so far,” answered a woman in the same language, but with an accent. This loosened a memory in Athos’s mind—up until this moment, the one woman and two men who held him had all spoken Spanish. But now there was a man speaking not just French, but impeccably accented and educated French. A nobleman, in fact, Athos was certain. So, an alliance of Spaniards and Frenchmen...working for Marie de Medici, perhaps?

“Are you sure this move is worth the risk?” asked the Frenchman.

“Yes,” the woman answered. “In this cellar, he will be able to bellow his head off and no one will hear him. No one goes into the cellar but me and my men. It’s the whole reason we have the place.”

“And you intend to make him bellow?”

“Not much good having a prisoner if you don’t.” The woman paused and then chuckled before continuing. “What? Sometimes you’ve got to risk a little.”

“I have already risked and sacrificed more than you can possibly understand. Which is why this must work. We need information.”

“And you’ll get it. Be patient.”

“My patience is by necessity limited. I must return to Paris, and I must say that I had been hoping to return with _something_.”

The woman laughed openly now. “You’ve never done this before, have you? It’s best to soften a prisoner up for a few days before you dive in. This is a process, not an event.” 

Athos greatly disliked the professional cruelty with which the woman spoke, but he should expect no less. He had interrogated prisoners before, and it was an ugly business no matter how you did it. The kind of showy torture or beating the Frenchman had likely expected was only used in extreme instances when there literally was not a second, or a scruple, to waste. But if you had time, breaking a prisoner mentally as much as physically over a period of time yielded much finer results. He needed to escape immediately. He certainly couldn’t afford to wait until he reached this cellar where no one would hear him scream.

“Fine,” sighed the man. “I will ride ahead and see that all is prepared. I don’t like that we’re arriving before dark, though. What if someone should see us?”

“What? Would you like me to slow down?” the woman asked with a snort. “We’ll bundle him up in a grain bag, and if someone happens to walk around the back, they’ll just think we’re bringing supplies."

“Very well. Third on the left, correct?”

“That’s right.”

Athos then heard the man spur his horse on. He could only guess how close they were. The light was weak, but that could easily be from the curtain covering the cart as much as the lateness of the hour. But something told him they were near their destination, and his escape must either come now, or perhaps, not at all. He had heard no one else—not a voice or horse or feet walking along side—the entire time he had been awake. That meant, if he were lucky, the woman was alone. He quickly felt around his manacles as best he could, wondering if they might be fastened with a screw or pin he could remove with a little effort, but he couldn’t feel as much as a keyhole. How had they been placed around his wrists and how did his captors intend to take them off? They did intend to take them off, didn’t they? Then he had vague memories of the cold, metal chair that had made his behind so numb and the chains where he had been held previously. Perhaps one of his captors was a blacksmith and the manacles had been permanently shut, only to be removed with skills, tools, and hard work creating a great deal of noise.

Athos needed to resign himself to not getting his hands free. And that was fine, he convinced himself, breathing deeply. He could stand and walk, perhaps even run at need, so the question was should he attack the woman driving the cart or attempt to slip away unnoticed? If spotted running, he would no longer have the advantage of surprise, and she may well have a gun and shoot him down before he ran ten feet. But he was hardly going to put up his best fight, manacled and stiff from captivity. He didn’t have time to debate his options—he must act, now.

Crawling to the front of the cart, he paused in a crouch and listened. He still heard nothing but wheels and horse hooves moving over gravel and dirt. He pulled the curtain separating the back of the cart from the driver's box a fraction to see the outline of the Spanish woman driving. No one else sat on the box with her, and Athos could see no one else nearby. He flexed his stiff fingers a few times before he sprang through the curtain.

His plan was to fling his arms over the woman’s head and strangle her with his manacles. But the cart dropped into a rut just as he jumped out at her, jostling them both, and meaning that he hit her rather hard in the back of the head, but that he did not get his hands around her throat.

As a woman who clearly understood the art of interrogation, he was unsurprised that she also knew how to defend herself. Clasping the reins in her right hand, she pulled a dagger from her belt with her left. In addition to the surprise of the cart hitting the rut, Athos had also been struck with severe pain in several parts of his body when he had moved so quickly. His head swam and throbbed, and he recalled for the first time that day that it had not been long ago that he’d taken a crossbow bolt to the left calf. His leg cramped and his eyes watered, and he didn’t even see the hilt of her dagger until it slammed into his cheek.

She shouted something in Spanish Athos did not understand, but he thought he recognized a swear word he’d heard Aramis use when he had dropped something on his foot. And that was when he heard horses galloping up from behind. He grabbed the woman’s wrist, hoping to make her drop the dagger, and spared a glance over his shoulder. As he suspected and feared, it was the two men who had been guarding him in his original prison. At least now he knew that trying to slip out of the back of the cart would not have been any more successful.

“What the hell!” cried a voice in French coming from up the road. Athos still wrestled with the woman and tried to see past her, desperate to know, at least, who the French traitor was. But the woman was strong, and even with one hand occupied controlling the horses, she was still in a better position than Athos, and about to get a good deal of help.

“Cover him!” she yelled in Spanish to the men coming up. It was one of the few phrases of militarily useful Spanish Aramis had taught him and Porthos, and in a sudden burst of sentimentalism, Athos found himself hoping Aramis taught it to d’Artagnan as well. That Aramis and Porthos taught d’Artagnan everything he still needed to learn.

The cart was slowing, and one of the men was able to jump on. He pulled Athos’s hand free of the woman’s wrist and started to drag him back into the covered part of cart. The other man was already back there—Athos hadn’t seen it happen, but then again, he had missed a great deal during this encounter—and he came up behind Athos with a sack.

He slammed it down over Athos’s head, but not before the wagon hit another rut, tipping the cart the other direction. For the merest moment, Athos saw the Frenchman riding towards them, mostly just a flash of hair, but then he was wrestled into the back of the cart. 

“My God, did he see me?” the Frenchman hissed.

“I don’t see how,” the woman answered. “I thought you were riding ahead?”

“I was but my servant met me and assured me all was ready, so I came back. I’m glad to see you have the situation under control! But if he’s seen me….”

“He hasn’t. Have you, captain?” She called this last back to him, but Athos only growled through the rag one of the men had shoved in his mouth.

Let the woman and everyone else think he had not seen the Frenchman. In fact, if he had not seen the man recently, Athos would never have recognized him. But only one man in France had hair that blond and curly and flowing. The Chevalier de la Garmeaux, who until that morning outside the council just before he left Paris on this mission, Athos wouldn’t have known from the Pope in Rome.


	17. Chapter 17

This should have felt no different. Treville was not merely a grown man, he was a soldier and the Minister of War for France. Sending soldiers off into danger, possibly to death, was his job. Anne believed she was a soldier, and truly, she was. She served France in war with her body, risking all in the effort. She followed orders and cared more for the big picture than for her own life. Of course, Treville was under no illusion that her big picture and his were different. But unless he was mistaken, he was now a part of her picture, the one that had previously only held Athos in frame. Granted, he was probably blurry and in a corner, but he was a part of her picture now. And that made all the difference.

Treville sent Athos and the other Musketeers into danger and to death because they served France. They were all a part of his larger picture, of what he meant when he said “France.” At the center of his picture was King Louis, but his face was not as clear as his crown. Behind him stood the shapes of those who represented France: the queen, the Dauphin, a Musketeer, a soldier, a nobleman, a farmer, a merchant, a sailor. The various people who made France French, but merely shapes without identity, on a backdrop of green rolling hills of crops and grapes.

Alternatively, Anne had a stark picture of why she did what she did—Athos’s face clear and exact on a black background. And Treville, now, perhaps, hiding in the corner. This must be what made him feel different about sending her after Athos, even though the soldier in him knew it was the right thing to do. And even though the soldier in him knew she was a soldier, too. It wasn’t different because he’d sent a woman into danger. In this, her womanliness only mattered in how she could manage things a man could not. And it wasn’t different because he had slept with her—he’d sent Athos off easily enough this time, just as he had dozens of times in the past. As always with Anne, what singled her out were her motivations. Then again, Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan would have gone to rescue Athos for Athos’s own sake, France be damned. Would that have been different? Would that have made him ache and worry?

Whatever the explanation, he didn’t have time to dwell on it any longer. He picked up the glove he’d been wearing when he touched her and thought about putting it on. It smelled like her, and while that was what he liked about it, he needed to keep that for in private. He slipped it, instead, into his bottom desk drawer behind the wine she had convinced him to keep for visitors he wished to impress. He stood, ready to leave, but someone knocked on his door. With a heavy sigh, he dropped back into his chair and said, “Come in.”

A frown he couldn’t contain washed over Treville as the Comte de la Garmeaux entered his office. Treville had real problems, and not just the erection that had formed while he had been looking at that glove. He needed to see what the king had decided about sending reinforcements west, what he intended to do about pro-Lorraine towns in the east, and how they would handle towns in the north and south that wanted nothing to do with the war. He should even look into Garmeaux’s genuine concerns about the raid on his son’s lands. Not that he could do any of that while Garmeaux lowered his bulk into the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Minister, I am pleased to see you finally have time for me,” Garmeaux said, settling in. “We have much of vital importance to discuss.”

Treville opened his bottom drawer. He did so to get the bottle of wine there, but of course he also saw his glove. He remembered it entering Anne. God, what was he doing? He…loved her? No. He loved Athos. He had unexplained feelings for Athos’s wife. Who he just possibly sent off to her death. It did not matter. He needed to pour wine, the right wine, for his guest, and he would be damned if he would do less. Anne would be disappointed otherwise.

“Let me pour you some of this excellent Bordeaux.”

“Fuck your Bordeaux. I would apologize for my bluntness, but you are a difficult man to see, and well, my nerves have reached their breaking point!”

The short, pudgy comte looked like a little fireball ready to explode, and Treville didn’t need anything of the kind. Besides, Anne had told him that Garmeaux might have ties to Lorraine via his son, as well as Marie de Medici. It was worth listening to him as much as Treville wished to be elsewhere.

“I’m sorry my wine isn’t to your taste. Please, let me know what the problem is.”

“The problem,” Garmeaux huffed as he leaned forward to pound the desk, “the problem,” he repeated, “is that my lands are in imminent danger of being overrun by the Spanish. Perhaps already have been! I need protection, and I will get it one way or another.” Garmeaux settled back in his chair with a contented smile that unnerved Treville far more than his actual words.

“Is Paget not seeing to your problems to your satisfaction?”

“No, he is not. In fact, I feel entirely let down by France. But I assure you Minister, I will not do nothing.”

“Yes, that’s what you intimated a moment ago. May I ask exactly what you mean?”

“I mean, there are other interested parties who have contacted me to offer far more help than Louis has.”

“May I ask who these other parties might be?” Treville did his best to keep his countenance stoic and calm. But in truth, he worried who Garmeaux had been speaking to, and if Anne should have been aware of any of it before she set off after Athos, especially if it _had_ been Garmeaux who slipped that note under his door.

“All the parties.” Garmeaux could not have looked more smug. In fact, his transition from screaming anger to…satisfaction smacked of acting. Treville wondered just how much of this encounter was show. It should have become apparent as soon as a man with Garmeaux’s thirst turned down Treville’s best Bordeaux.

“I hope you will forgive me if I ask you to enumerate them.”

“Well, you all know, because of my deep love of the former king, Henri IV, I have always felt affection for his wife and mother of his heir, Marie de Medici.”

Treville nearly snorted. If Garmeaux had “affection” for Marie based on his love for King Henri, well, that would be more than Henri had ever felt for her. A fact evident in that while Marie was the mother of Henri’s heir, she was not the mother of the majority of his children. “Yes, your continued relationship with the king’s exiled mother is something well known at court.”

“Well,” Garmeaux said with an unflummoxed grin, “I have heard from, shall we say, a friend of hers, offering whatever support she can manage against the violence being visited upon my family.”

What Marie could offer on this front was virtually nothing, as far as Treville knew. Of course, he had yet to hear anything definitive, since it was Athos’s misbegotten mission that was meant to find this out. But if Marie had real power, surely he would know. Still, the Spanish might seek to placate her, and her allies in France, to help smooth their way. But Treville didn’t need to let Garmeaux know that’s what he was thinking. “That is kind of her, particularly given the violence she visited upon France when she attempted to take the throne from our rightful majesty, Louis XIII.”

Garmeaux looked away, but didn’t actually manage to look abashed, which he really should have. It was widely-known what Marie had done to Treville when she’d briefly wielded power in France. “That was a very difficult and trying time, Minister. I believe Marie de Medici has only ever desired what was best for France.”

Marie desired what was best for Marie, Treville well knew. But there was no good to come of arguing this point with Garmeaux. “So, the exiled queen mother has offered you aid. Who else?”

Garmeaux’s face pinched as he wriggled in his chair. “The King of Spain! What do you think of that?”

“I think if King Philip has offered to allow you to keep your lands in return for free passage through, you’re a traitor and a complete fool. Are you a complete fool, Garmeaux?”

“If you do not take my concerns seriously, I will leave.”

Garmeaux made to heft himself out of the chair, but Treville waved a conciliatory hand. “I take your concerns quite seriously. Much more seriously than the King of Spain, who has no love of you or your family.”

What Treville really feared was Gaston and Lorraine, especially since Anne had told him that Garmeaux’s son and Gaston had studied together. Those close to Marie were rarely friendly to the king, Garmeaux being one of the few who attempted to walk that fine line, but even fewer people managed to be close to both Marie and Gaston. But the Comtes of Garmeaux and the Dukes of Lorraine had allied before. King Louis was not well loved, and the French public and even many of the nobles had been separated from Gaston for so long that they may have forgotten that they disliked him far more.

“Neither does the Duke of Lorraine,” Treville said. Garmeaux jerked upright, as though confused by Treville’s words, but Treville simply continued on. “If he has offered you or your son anything, it comes with a debt not merely to him, but to Gaston.”

“Well, Louis has not done any better protecting me.”

Treville sighed, knowing that he could not sway Garmeaux with logic or patriotism. He needed to offer the comte something concrete and better. The fact he didn’t have anything to offer nearly stopped Treville, but he couldn’t give up now. So he made a wildly inappropriate promise he didn’t think he could keep, at least not immediately. Hopefully by the time it mattered, he would have something figured out. “I need to see Lefévre this afternoon. I will speak with him about how we can get you, oh, two dozen cannon, I think, to dissuade the Spanish from attempting to raid your lands.”

Garmeaux sat up straight, looking both surprised and interested for the first time since entering Treville’s office. “You would get me two dozen cannon?”

“I will certainly talk to Lefévre, although he is constantly complaining about how long it will take to get anything made, so I can’t say when you’ll have them.”

“I appreciate your help, Minister,” Garmeaux said, standing and holding his hand over the desk. Treville raised his behind from his chair, but didn’t stand up straight, as he took the other man’s hand. “Thank you, Minister. I will leave you to your business now. I know you’re a busy man.”

Treville fell back down into the chair and watched Garmeaux leave. Yes, he would talk to Lefévre. He would even order the cannon. He just didn’t know where in the hell the money was going to come from to pay for them.

***

The entire carriage ride to Lefévre’s forge all Treville thought about was Anne and Athos. Touching her that morning had been glorious. He’d wanted to fuck her, but there just hadn’t been time. In fact, he hadn’t had enough time at any point that day to do anything about his own urges. Every time his erection would slowly begin to fade, he would think of her again, holding her naked body in the night, and it would return. It had gotten so bad, he was half tempted to just toss himself off right here in the carriage. Once, when he had been traveling by carriage across Paris with Athos, he had taken Treville’s cock in hand and made a terrific mess of the upholstery.

Athos. God, how Treville missed him. Anne had to find him; that’s all there was to it. And Athos would return to them and hopefully be pleased that Treville and Anne had reached an understanding. He wouldn’t see it as a betrayal, Treville hoped. Yet, he had to prepare for the possibility that Athos would feel betrayed by them. Athos was a jealous man. His pain when Anne had been the king’s mistress had been deep. But surely this would be different. Athos would not feel as though they had done something deceitful behind his back. He would be pleased. He had to be.

Treville pushed uncomfortably hard against his cock as the carriage slowed to a stop. “Thank God for the new long coat,” he thought as he stepped out and did up a few strategically-placed buttons.

Of course, that became problematic when one of Lefévre’s apprentices showed him into a forge. He was immediately sweltering and a bit nauseous. On the plus side, he could feel his erection going away.

Lefévre was talking to a man working the bellows at a fire Treville thought looked entirely well stoked. But he didn’t know forges well enough to comment intelligently, so he said nothing and waited for the apprentice to announce him. When the young man pointed at Treville, Lefévre turned and nodded, but with a frown. He was dressed in just a shirt, open at the throat, no sign of a doublet, sleeves rolled up. Treville longed to join his level of casualness, no matter how unfitting it would be for the Minister of War.

But luck turned out to be on Treville’s side for a change. When Lefévre reached him and finished his rather half-hearted bow, he suggested they go out into the courtyard. Treville hadn’t realized there was a courtyard, but he readily agreed to anything that would remove him from this hellish furnace. Sure enough, when Lefévre led him out a door in the back, they entered a rather nice-sized courtyard with two tables that could seat eight men apiece on benches along the sides. There were a few other smaller tables scattered throughout, one of which was occupied by a young boy separating bits of metal into containers. Treville thought what a welcome relief it must be to come out here to do work instead of staying inside the forge. The buildings circling the courtyard were modest stone structures, but clearly well made. In fact, it all reminded him of the garrison.

“Your apprentices live here,” Treville said, nodding generally at the buildings.

“They do. As do several of the qualified blacksmiths who work for me. It costs me extra, obviously, to house them and feed them, but it pays off in well-fed, healthy men and boys who come to work on time and work hard.”

“Hence the prices you’ve been so fond of quoting me for cannon.”

“If every forge were run like mine, the price would be even higher. But you’d also have everything the king wanted for war faster and better.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Treville nodded at a small table, far from the boy who was currently working, which also happened to be in the shade. “Shall we sit?”

“As you see fit,” Lefévre said, pushing up his sleeves farther, showing off forearms far more developed than one expected from a man of his medium build in his forties. “So, what can I do for you today, Minister?”

As he settled in across from Lefévre, Treville took a deep breath, while trying to look as though he were doing anything but. He hated to tell lies and make false promises. Hopefully, he would find some money somewhere and make it all true. He’d beg Paget and promise him some favor he could help make happen. Treville wanted to vomit. Or have a very strong drink. “I need two dozen cannon.”

Lefévre raised his eyebrows, looking rather impressed. “And who’s going to pay for these?”

“The King of France.”

“With what money?”

“With money from the treasury, of course. Will you make them or not?”

Lefévre nodded. “Oh, yes. I’ll make them. How soon do you need them?”

The truth was that Lefévre could take his time. Let Garmeaux wait, and let him find some means of paying for them. But would that push him closer toward one of the crown’s enemies? And given how forceful Treville had already been, he didn’t think it much of a tactic to tell Lefévre to take his time. “Sooner is better than later.”

Lefévre nodded. “I’ll put your order at the top of the list.”

“At the neglect of his majesty’s other needs?” Treville questioned, hoping perhaps this would be a way in which he could slow Lefévre down.

“I hired in some new men in anticipation of increased orders. And,” he paused and smiled, “I’ve found some investors in my business.”

Three young men, perhaps around d’Artagnan’s age, came running down the stairway of one of the buildings forming the courtyard. They were all laughing and heading toward the forge. They were also all speaking Spanish. Treville looked swiftly at Lefévre.

“My new men,” the blacksmith smiled. “Just arrived from Barcelona. Apparently, they felt the need to come to France, and we of the blacksmiths’ guild feel a bond that transcends borders.”

“The king’s cannon are to be made with Spanish labor and unknown investments?”

“You do still wish for them to be made?” The mirth in Lefévre tone made Treville wish he could rescind the order. But he could not afford to lose Garmeaux to treachery or conquest. What might he do if Treville failed to deliver the cannon? What might he have already done? Was he, perhaps, already helping Marie? Perhaps he helped her by stopping the mission of the Musketeers sent to investigate her. Far too many people at court had known of the mission. Garmeaux could have easily sent word to his contacts in Brussels.

For that matter, what might Lefévre be capable of to prove that paying him to keep the Spanish at bay was France’s only hope? Would he intentionally go after a Musketeer, the symbol of all that was not artillery? Would Lefévre want to show how useless Musketeers were? His new employees showed that he had potential Spanish ties that until now, Treville would never have considered. And God only knew who his “investors” supported.

“Minister?” Lefévre asked. “The two dozen cannon: yes or no?”

“Yes,” Treville said, and without a proper goodbye, he rose and made his way back through the forge to the carriage waiting for him at the front.


	18. Chapter 18

Treville suspected he might never leave his office again. At the garrison he’d had a cot put in his office, and there were times he was sure he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep without it. Considering his office now secretly connected to his rooms, he should have been able to make it to his bed more often and earlier. And yet it was closing in on midnight and when he finished what he could for the day, he didn’t know if he had the energy to climb the stairs. He knew it would look out of place here in the palace in a minister’s office, but he really did think he might have a cot brought in.

After rubbing his eyes, he picked up his coat from the back of his chair, ready to put one foot in front of the other until he ran into a mattress. But the sound he dreaded most stopped him in his shuffling tracks—a knock at the door. He groaned, dropped the jacket on the corner of the desk. The slippery leather slid to the floor. “Come in.”

In his first stroke of luck of the long day, the face that appeared at the crack of the door was d’Artagnan, and behind him, Aramis and Porthos. Treville gave them a weary, but genuine smile, and his feet more than shuffled on his way to embrace them at the door.

“Good to see you both,” he said, squeezing Aramis. “Come in and sit. When did you return to Paris?”

“Half an hour ago,” Porthos answered, taking Treville in his massive arms. “Dropped our horses at the garrison, pulled this one away from his missus, and came straight here. What news do you have?”

Treville sighed, leading them to a small table between the windows and the fireplace that had enough chairs for them all. It also had a decanter and glasses. He hadn’t started drinking more since Anne’s return to Paris, but she had made him aware of having it available to others. And, frankly, right now, he did want a drink.

“I have nothing new to add to what I’m sure d’Artagnan told you,” Treville said, reluctant to tell any of them about Anne’s mission. It was not that he did not trust them, or that he second guessed his choice to send her after Athos yesterday morning. And yet, he already feared their reactions, a problem he would have to overcome, because he knew in his heart, he couldn’t avoid telling them before the night was out.

“D’Artagnan, I am afraid, hasn’t told us much,” said Aramis, settling in and pouring wine for them all. “Some diplomat who does not care about Athos one way or the other, has been given the task by Louis, but is moving at the rate of a lame horse. The king refuses to allow you to engage the military, for fear of angering people he is already at war with. And we still cannot even be certain who holds Athos prisoner, where he is, or what might be being done to him at this very moment.”

Aramis had passed glasses to everyone during this speech. They all sat, staring silently at their glasses as Aramis finished. Treville had always known the situation bleak, and Aramis had just managed to make it more so.

“Is that really how it is?” Porthos asked Treville.

“More or less.”

“What’s the more?” Porthos pressed.

Treville sighed, sipped his wine, and started explaining what he could. “There are many factions in play. I’m trying to find out what I can about all of them. I need to know who’s a threat to France. That must be my first priority as Minister of War. I even hope that as I learn more as quickly as I can, I’ll find out who here in Paris knew of your mission and has contact in the north. If I figure that out, I hope it will give us a better idea of where Athos is and who might have him.”

“That’s useless!” Porthos said. “We should be out there, following Athos’s trail before it’s completely gone, trying to save him ourselves. You think he would sit here in Paris talking with a bunch of useless assholes at court if any of us had been taken?”

“I think Athos would do his duty,” said Treville.

“Duty to his brothers,” d’Artagnan said. “He would find a way to save us.”

Studying his wine and not the faces of the men who had become as important to him as any brothers he had ever had in the service of France, Treville whispered, “I am doing something. I…do not believe his majesty would approve. It is best none of you know about it, so that should it fail, you will not be tainted.”

“If what you’re doing isn’t sending someone to find him, right now, then I don’t care about it,” Porthos said. “Please tell us what you’ve done is come up with a cover story so we can all leave.”

Porthos sounded so hurt, Treville wanted to say "Yes," and yet, that was impossible. So, like the coward he felt, he shook his head without speaking.

“He did send someone,” Aramis said. “He sent _her_.”

“Her?” d’Artagnan asked. “What do you mean her?”

Treville flickered his eyes up and caught Porthos’s, who grunted. “His wife,” Porthos grumbled. “Are we sure she’s not working for whoever took Athos? She’s tried killing him as often as she’s saved him.”

“She is working for me, and she genuinely desires to rescue Athos,” answered Treville. “And whatever else any of you may think of her, she is the most capable person I could send. I have faith she will find him and bring him home.”

D’Artagnan pushed himself up and stalked over to the windows. Treville watched his back, shoulders tense with so much frustration and mistrust. Treville couldn’t blame him. If anyone had a reason to doubt Anne, it was d’Artagnan. And yet, it would mean so much if he could trust this plan, _Treville's_ plan, even if he couldn't trust Anne.

“So, what precisely is her plan?” Aramis asked.

“She is going to the town where Athos was headed and you left the wounded woman d’Artagnan told me Athos tried to defend. She is still alive?”

“When we left, yes,” said Aramis. “And no sign of infection, but it’s hard to be sure with stomach wounds.”

Treville nodded. “From there, she will do her best to find his trail, but unlike three large men who are so clearly soldiers, she will have an easier time crossing the border to continue the search if need be.”

“Where will she search of no one knows anything?” Porthos asked. “Sure, she can go farther than we could, but we tried, and nothing.”

“She will go to Douai. There’s an innkeeper there who is a French agent who should be able to help her.”

“What inn?” Aramis asked, suddenly sitting up straight. The focus of his eyes gave Treville no confidence that the conversation was going anywhere other than in a most dangerous direction.

“The Swan. The man’s name is—“

“Gallant?” Aramis cut in.

“Yes.” Treville was pleased that someone knew something about the man other than what Treville had learned from a new priest at the cathedral who had been in Douai in his youth. “What do you know of him?”

“I know he is dead, and under mysterious circumstances. It happened the day I arrived at the monastery.”

“Oh God. What have I done?” Treville rose, took several steps towards the middle of the room, froze, took two steps in the other direction toward his desk, but then stopped again. “It was all a set up. And I sent her into it. Not only is Athos not going to be rescued, but I’ve killed Anne as well. Oh God.”

Aramis was at his side. “Don’t give up hope yet. The man’s death was mysterious. It might not have been anything significant. And she may not even end up in Douai. Now, when did she leave?"

“Yesterday morning. I have to go after her.”

“Absolutely not,” said Porthos. “This is when you finally tell the king you’re the one who knows what he’s doing, and you send us.”

Treville shook his head. “No. It has to be me. I’m the one….” His words caught in his throat and he choked on them. He had trusted a message slipped under his door in the middle of the night without question, and on that basis, he’d sent Anne into danger and risked no one finding Athos. He had to put this right. And he had to remove himself from a place where he could continue to do harm to France and the people he loved.

He finally found his resolve and went straight to his desk. Seated in his chair, Treville took out parchment, quill, and ink. As soon as he had his cuffs out of the way, he began to write.

_Your majesty,_

_I regret to inform you that in spite of your usually excellent judgment, you were much mistaken in me. I have always done my utmost to serve you and France, but I can no longer ignore my own shortcomings. I am not fit to serve as your Minister of War. Please accept this resignation, knowing that, as always, I am attempting to do what is best for France._

_J.A. du Peyrer, de Treville_

His resignation penned, he folded the paper in half and took from his drawer his personal seal along with the wax. He melted a bit of wax in a candle before letting it drip onto the fold. Taking his anger out on the lump, he slammed the seal down upon it. _Fidelis et fortis_. His family motto looked like a cruel joke to him. He would never live up to it, but he would die trying.

When he pushed back from his desk, letter in hand, he found the other three standing at the table that still held their unfinished wine. Aramis abruptly stopped whispering and they all stared at Treville. Their faces were apprehensive, as well they might be. If they had perhaps questioned him more in the past, he would have never found himself in this position.

“What have you decided?” Aramis asked.

Treville walked straight to him and held out the letter. They stood, staring at each other for several long seconds, Treville’s hand never wavering until Aramis accepted the letter. “I would ask you to please give that to his majesty first thing in the morning.”

“Where will you be in the morning?” Porthos asked.

“On my way to Douai. I am responsible for this calamity, and I will fix it.”

“But you’re the Minister of War,” d’Artagnan argued. “You can’t just ride off in the middle of a war.”

“Besides,” Aramis said, “his majesty said there was to be no military involvement. It does not get more military than you.”

“I will no longer be the Minister of War when you give that letter to the king, so I will not have disobeyed his majesty.”

Aramis waived the letter at him. “But until he accepts this, you are still the Minister of War. Let us go instead.”

“No. If I go and it backfires, I’m a rogue minister, not to be taken seriously. If you three go, I’m the Minister of War who willfully disregarded the king’s wishes.” Treville shook his head. “No, I say. I will go, and you will give that to the king. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to leave immediately. She’s already a day and a half ahead of me, and I doubt she is riding slowly.”


	19. Chapter 19

Weak sunlight dripped through the crack in the board covering the tiny window high on the wall. So, it was morning again, Athos realized, his third in this cellar, walls and doors as thick as has been promised. Ever since he had been deposited here, more bruised and pained that at any previous point, he had been tied to this chair, his only change coming when his guards arrived two times a day to allow him to eat and relieve himself. Otherwise, life was the chair—and his stinking clothes, his aches, his sour stomach. The Spanish woman, true to her word, had not performed a real interrogation yet, preferring to make him as miserable and uncomfortable as possible before she began. But he had a sick feeling this would change soon. The Chevalier de la Garmeaux would not be content to continue his scheming without learning whatever it was he wanted from Athos, and while he might leave this woman to perform the interrogation, he would not wait forever. Athos’s only questions every morning were would it be today that she started asking, and how much was she willing to hurt him to find answers?

Perhaps he had one more question: how much would he endure before he told her everything she wanted to know? Every man had his limit for what he would stand before he talked. He had no illusions that he was somehow special and would refuse indefinitely. But information was almost always time sensitive, and word of his capture must have reached Paris, so it was imperative he hold out until Treville could reassess France’s war plan based on what he might tell his captors. Then again, perhaps what she wanted to know had no date assigned to it. She didn’t seem to be in a rush to begin his interrogation. There was only so much time you spent softening someone up if you needed information in a hurry.

But what else was Athos going to think about? Escape? His first attempt had been such a disaste he wasn’t eager to try again, not to mention there were only so many waking hours he could spend on even that multilayered problem. The primary difficulty he had was that even if he got free, he wouldn’t be able to walk well. He didn’t think his wound from the crossbow bolt was infected, but it hurt like hell, and he’d give anything for Aramis to look at it for even five minutes. And days of not walking, stuck in the same position, his muscles simply didn’t react as one needed for escape. He needed to figure out some way to extend the time he spent off the chair, because those two times a day the guards dragged him from the chair to relieve himself weren’t pretty.

So, he thought about other issues, mostly what he would say to the woman once she started asking questions. And he eventually thought through his answers—the mix of truth and lies he would spin her. It depended on the questions, of course. Simple questions about what he had been doing at the border were easy enough. Musketeers scouting a border during war was entirely credible. If she asked about the larger war effort, that was another matter.

Treville and Athos hadn’t discussed the war plan much before he left, in part because there hadn’t been time. But knowing he was about to go into a situation that always held the very real possibility of him ending up precisely like this meant Athos hadn’t wanted to know. And Treville had been smart enough to keep details the Captain of the Musketeers didn’t need to know to himself. But Athos knew the size of France’s forces, their general current deployment, and he had some idea of the state of the treasury. And as much as he had chosen the Musketeers and eschewed court, he even knew something about who had power, who was in favor, who the king trusted, though not in detail.

The longer he thought on what he knew, how _little_ he knew, Athos worried his captor would find him such a sad disappointment she would kill him and be done with it.

The heavy door behind him creaked open. He thought it was a bit too early for breakfast and his first trip to the corner for the day. But there was nothing that said his guards had to follow a strict routine with him. Perhaps they had more important business this morning, like drowning kittens.

Several pairs of heavy boots approached from behind him and the guards stopped at his sides. The voice that spoke, though, was that of the Spanish woman. “Good morning. I hope you’re up for a chat today. I think it’s time we got to know each other better. Oh, and,” she stepped up so closely behind him, she brushed against the chair. Not that he dared turn to look at her with the guards flanking him. “The first person I’m interested in talking to you about is your wife.”

She reached over his shoulder and dropped a belt in his lap. _Anne’s_ belt.

***

Anne’s belt. How had she gotten Anne’s belt? Was Anne here? Wherever here was. Had someone tracked her down in Paris? Worst of all, was Anne now in the same position as he was—captive and unable to save herself? After the guards helped him see to his morning issues and gave him a hunk of bread that stuck in his throat, they left Athos back on his chair. The sun now shone high in the sky, but no one had been back in. No, they had left him with the most terrible thoughts they could have planted in his mind.

He should be working through what he knew logically, but the sick feeling in his stomach refused to allow him a moment’s clear thought. Anne was in trouble. And he’d never been more helpless.

The belt still lay on his lap when his interrogator returned. His hands were, of course, tied behind him, and so he could do nothing to stop her when she picked it up. She snapped it in front of him with a grin. Anne’s belt. It was still shiny, and he even imaged he could smell her perfume on it. How dare this woman touch it?

“Ready to talk about your wife?” she asked.

He was prepared, or as prepared as he could be, for this question, so he said nonchalantly, “There’s not really much to say.”

She cracked the belt as if it were a whip. “I don’t think so. Try again.”

What did this woman want to know about Anne? About her career as a spy and assassin, he assumed. She couldn’t possibly mean that she wanted to know about their marriage. No one wanted to know that sad, sick tale. “We’re estranged. I can’t really say much about her.”

The belt slapped across his cheek. “Try. Again.”

“She was a petty thief before I met her. I didn’t know that when I married her. It didn’t work out once I knew. Haven’t seen her regularly in years.”

Once more the belt snapped across his face, twice in quick succession. Then she backhanded him with it. His cheeks burned, but he could stand that. He just hoped she didn’t catch an eye.

“Then why is she here?”

Here. So Anne had come to search for him. He was ecstatic to know she had come for him and might save him, but he also wished her a million miles away, somewhere safe. He tried to swallow, but his voice still came out dry and scratchy. “Given I don’t know where here is, it’s rather difficult for me to say.”

The woman twisted the belt around her hand so now the buckle hung free at the end. “She’s here for you, isn’t she?”

“Here to make certain I’m dead if anything.” He hated telling these lies about Anne, but it had not been so long ago that this statement would have been true. Besides, all of these falsehoods seemed the best way to keep her safe, and hopefully, in a position to rescue him. If this woman didn’t know why Anne was here, he prayed that meant Anne might still be at liberty.

He hated the lie even more when the buckle ripped open his left cheek. But he fought against the urge to cry out or give this woman any satisfaction, even as he felt the blood trickle down his jaw. Keeping his eyes as passive as he could, he asked, “And I see you wish to oblige her.”

She jerked the belt backhand. He tried to move out of the way, but the buckle caught his ear, opening another cut. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me about your wife, let’s talk about Minister Treville.”

Athos assumed since she did not produce anything of Treville’s at this point, she had nothing of his to torture Athos with, and Treville was safe. Yes, of course, Treville was safe as well. Athos only needed to worry about not divulging crown secrets. “Minister Treville is an excellent man. I am always willing to sing his praises.”

The woman stepped up to him and wrapped the belt around his throat. “If I could still hear you speak while I am choking you, I’d do it.” She tightened the belt. “Maybe I will anyway. If you have nothing to say.”

Athos’s lungs ached for air by the time she finally released her grip. He sucked in air as quickly as he could, wondering when he might lose the opportunity again. “What would you like to know? He isn’t a very good dancer, and he’s married to his job, so I do not think you’d find him worth pursuing as a prospective mate.”

She squeezed the belt, her face contorting with frustration just inches from his. He couldn’t say why he had chosen to antagonize her out of all the choices for how to handle an interrogation. Perhaps he just didn’t care about his own wellbeing; he hadn’t for so many years, it came naturally. But now with Anne back, truly back, and with the possibility of Treville’s love remaining in his life, Athos had reasons to live. Perhaps he wanted to make this woman angry so she might make a mistake. Or perhaps he thought she should hurt the way he had hurt when she’d produced Anne’s belt.

“Where do the Minister’s loyalties lie?” she asked, still pulling on the end of the belt. “What does he want? You should know better than anyone.”

He didn’t have to intentionally draw breath when she released him this time, the air flooding into his body as he gasped and coughed. When he finally regained some control over his body, he laughed. “With France. His loyalties will always be with France. Anyone who hopes otherwise is a fool. So, give Marie de Medici his regards, and kindly let me go.”

Athos was only guessing about Marie, but this woman was Spanish, and he had been headed to Brussels to investigate Marie’s desires. It made sense, and he felt it was worth the gamble. Of course, this woman kept her face blank, and he had no idea if he had guessed correctly.

“Does he think Louis is what’s best for France?”

In his hours of sitting in the cellar, cold and pained, thinking of every possible question he might be asked, this one he had never contemplated. Did Treville think Louis was best for France? Of course, he did. Louis was the rightful king and Treville would always support the rightful ruler. If Treville should outlive Louis that would become a more complicated issue, but not an issue that merited thought at this particular moment.

His interrogator did not care for his hesitation. Apparently, since she had moved on from questions about Anne, she was also done with the belt, and she punched him in the stomach. He had been worried about what would happen if his large, powerfully built guards started beating him, and he had not liked his odds of withstanding it well. For some reason, he had given no thought to this woman beating him. She was fit and in her early twenties, and clearly used to hard work. Yes, a beating from her would be sufficiently miserable. “Answer the question.”

“Treville would give his life for King Louis. You don’t need to beat me to discover that. Anyone who has ever met him for thirty seconds will tell you the same.”

“Then what is he planning in Louis’s defense?”  
  
“How should I know?”

Someone—one of the guards, an older brother, an especially fierce mother—had taught this woman something about administering a beating and anatomy. She moved to his side, crouched, and delivered a blow to his left kidney. He spluttered, and if she hadn’t just knocked the air out of him, he might very well have screamed. “What is the war plan? Don’t make me ask again.” But just in case she had to, she moved to his other side, and he had no doubt she was preparing to replicate her punch.

“I am the Captain of the Musketeers. I know a very tiny part of the war plan. You can beat me all you like, but it will not make me know more than I do.”

She pulled back and he braced for the pain, but it never came. The door opened, and one of the guards said, “Sofia. You are needed upstairs. Now.”

Pulling herself up straight, she glared down at Athos. “I will be back. You might want to rethink your answers. If you don’t, I’ll bring something decidedly more personal from your wife than her belt. Maybe a few of her fingers.” She slapped him hard across the face once more with the belt before dropping it on his lap.

She stalked out of the room and the door slammed behind her and the guard. Athos breathed as deeply as his pain allowed. He didn’t know how long this reprieve would last, but he needed to take advantage of it to marshal his strength and think. It was no longer just his life at stake.


	20. Chapter 20

This would surely go down as the most ludicrous moment of her life. She had tracked Athos to the border, but no farther, so she’d headed for Douai. And now she was here, and ready to go to the Swan, but she couldn’t find her damned belt. She would probably be fine without it and the weapons she usually dangled off it. The innkeeper was supposed to be a friend of France, after all. According to an anonymous letter. But she trusted no one. She never had. There might be some rope she could tie around her waist. But that would look ridiculous. No. One dagger up her sleeve, another on her thigh, and the throwing knife in her boot. She would be fine. To be on the safe side, she packed everything, threw Treville’s cloak around her shoulders, and led her horse down the street with her to the Swan, ready to leave in hurry if need be.

The day was sunny and people were happily going about their business. A bell at the monastery where Aramis had so recently been marked noon. The Swan and its owner should be open for business and ready for her. She still thought it surprising that when she stopped last night they had no room for her and the innkeeper was out. What innkeeper left his inn when it was full? But when she had gone to the inn down the street, the Fleur, the proprietor said the man who ran the Swan had been forced to go to the next town for some much need supplies. She wondered if that were a cover for something the man might be doing as an agent of France. Not that it mattered. The man at the Fleur assured her he would return by midday.

When she entered the Swan, she thought it a bit quiet and deserted for an inn at capacity. Dammit. She should have found some way to bring a gun. There were only two men in the public room, and she knew them both immediately as hired thugs. While there wasn’t a man alive she couldn’t kill, she would have preferred her odds against two men if she’d had a gun. When a woman emerged from a side door wearing a grin and a blood-splattered white blouse, Anne cursed her stupidity. But she was also fairly certain she must have found Athos.

“So nice to see you, Anne,” said the woman, slowly moving to the middle of the room. The two men were instantly up, one to each side of her, about ten feet apart. Fanning out. Anne could talk or she could start fighting. The blood on the woman’s shirt made it an easy choice.

Anne crossed her arms, hoping she looked casual as opposed to what she was—a woman going for a knife up her sleeve. “I’m not sure I can say the same. Whatever your name might happen to be.” The man on Anne’s right was closest, about a dozen feet from her. She pivoted to face him directly as she pulled the dagger from her sleeve. It wasn’t weighted specifically for throwing, but it was well balanced, and this wasn’t the first time she’d thrown it. Luckily, it lodged itself in her target’s throat. Knowing the other two would be on her in seconds, Anne scurried behind a table as she pulled her next knife from her thigh.

The other man rushed for her, his own dagger drawn. This obviously wasn’t the man’s first knife fight, but the way he lunged and scrambled after her, she knew she was better at this. Too bad he had a significantly longer reach with a longer blade at the end of it. With only one more weapon on her, she didn’t like the idea of throwing this one. Especially at someone who must be ready for it, and was close enough that should she miss, she would have to immediately be ready to defend herself. And, of course, the woman was moving around on Anne’s other side.

No, actually, the other woman wasn’t moving around to Anne’s right side as she had been. Unlike Anne, this Spanish woman had a pistol hanging from her belt, and she was moving toward the bar to get the candle to light her fuse. Anne had no time to waste. She dove inside the man’s guard, taking a slice along the back of her left arm for her efforts. But she put a much bigger gash along his stomach. He stumbled back and she lunged again, ignoring the pain in her arm as best she could. She stabbed in and up his chest and he crumpled in a heap. Anne followed his corpse to the floor, yanking at her knife, which wouldn’t come free. Caught on his ribs. Of course. She looked frantically for his knife, but his hulking body had fallen on top of it. Anne rolled to see where the woman with the gun was. As Anne feared, she stood at the bar, lighting the fuse.

There were several tables and chairs between them, even after Anne rolled away. She hated the angle, but what was she going to do? Let the woman take a shot at her? Her hand dove into her right boot, pulling out an actual throwing knife. Good thing, too. At twenty feet, she was just as likely to get shot if that woman pulled the trigger.

Just as the woman was turning the gun on Anne, she launched the knife. It hit the woman’s arm, and Anne couldn’t say how deep the cut might be, but it was enough to throw off her aim. The chair next to Anne’s head flew into splinters, but at least it was the chair and not her head.

Dripping blood, Anne rushed the woman. She had recovered her focus from the minor injury Anne had caused her, and she flipped the pistol around and swung it like a club at Anne’s head. Without thinking, Anne ducked and shielded herself with her left arm. When it made contact with her open cut, she screamed and dropped to her knees.

But here on the floor was the knife she had just thrown. She rolled away and scooped it up, barely avoiding another blow from the pistol. She lashed out, almost blind with pain, slicing the back of the woman’s ankle. The Spanish woman let out a gratifying yelp, but she swung the pistol again, nonetheless, catching Anne’s shoulder. But Anne swiped again, this time getting the back of the other woman’s knee. Ankle and knee both gone, the woman collapsed on the floor. Anne shifted the knife to her left hand so she could punch the woman in the throat. While she gasped for breath, Anne took the pistol away and smacked the woman in the face with it.

And then hit her with it again.

Bloody and defeated, Anne moved up to press the knife to the woman’s throat. “Athos. Where is he?”

The woman laughed as she spit out blood. “Why should I tell you?”

Anne brought the pistol butt down on the woman’s kneecap. The one she had cut on the back. The scream was extraordinary. It brought a smile to Anne’s lips, but it might also bring trouble. She needed to move. “I think he’s through the door you came through earlier. Tell me if I’m right or not, and I’ll decide if you live or die.”

The woman grimaced. But she also nodded. “This won’t make any difference. France is still doomed, and you—“

Anne slit her throat and ran for the door.

***

Normally Athos didn’t hear the clatter of footsteps on the stairs, the door so thick his captors didn’t worry about how loudly he might scream. Then again, he’d also never heard a gunshot upstairs. Perhaps this cellar wasn’t as soundproof as Sofia (he appreciated finally having a name for her) believed. He should start shouting with everything he could muster, feeling his time might be running out with shots now being fired.

The door slammed open against the wall. “Athos!”

“Anne!” He couldn’t turn and see her, but he would always know her voice. “Anne, you must hurry.”

“I know.” With a swish of skirt, she was behind him, cutting the bonds around his wrists, and he thanked God the manacles he’d worn on the ride here had been swapped out when the guards complained about how difficult they were to remove for meals. Once they were free, he pulled his hands in front of him, reveling in having them in any other position. But they were covered in blood, though he did not see that she had nicked him. While she worked on the other ropes holding him to the chair, he asked, “Anne, where is this blood from?”

“It’s a blend,” she answered with a grunt. “How many people have been guarding you?”

“Three—two men and a woman. All Spanish I suspect.”

“Thank God.”

“Well, yes, but—“

“They’re all dead.”

Anne came around and knelt before him to cut away the last of the ropes around his ankles. She had blood all over her—hands, face, dress. If he wasn’t mistaken, she had a wound actively oozing blood on her left arm. “My God, Anne. All three of them? Who’s here with you?”

She snorted. “No one. Louis is an idiot, and I was the only person Treville could send.” She snorted again. “Fucking Treville.” With a hard yank of her knife, she cut the last rope and popped up. “Can you stand and walk?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“And eventually someone is going to find three dead bodies upstairs, and if we’re still here, I’ll probably bleed some more.” She whisked the heavy cloak she was wearing off and draped it over his shoulders. “Throw your arm around me and let’s go.”

She was right about attracting attention, especially with the gunshot. “How far do we have to go?”

Anne grinned. “I fucked up a good deal about this mission, but my horse is just outside, packed and ready to go. Assuming the people of Douai aren’t horse thieves.”

“And then ride like hell. Yes, I can manage that much.” He reached around her and fastened her belt around her waist. She cleared her throat as she bent down and picked up his doublet, pulling his scarf from the pocket. He pressed the scarf to his face—his wound was bleeding again from smiling at her.


	21. Chapter 21

She rarely felt grateful for Aramis. In fact, she never felt grateful for the ungrateful bastard, who had yet to thank her for saving his life. But in this case, she didn’t entirely despise him. When Athos, Porthos, and d’Artagnan had come to Douai to collect him, Aramis had shown them what he called an “idyllic path” around the back of the monastery. Without it, she doubted they would have gotten out of the town without a fight that neither of them were up for.

Athos’s years of missions came in particularly handy on the ride once he had gotten some of the stiffness out of his hands and arms. And eaten her saddlebags empty and drained her water skin. Because he was in worse shape when they mounted, Anne had placed him on the saddle in front of her. This gave him the perfect angle to bind her arm with strips of fabric he cut from the ruined sleeve of her dress. “I think a section of this will need stitched, but I’m not doing that in the saddle,” he said.

“Has your face stopped bleeding?”

“No, but my ear has, which I suppose is something.”

They rode as hard as the horse would carry the two of them, which after they were out of sight of Douai was a brisk walk. She thought about dismounting for a while to give the horse a rest, but it didn’t take her long contemplating such a thing to realize she was the one in need of a rest.

They only stopped briefly for a call of nature by a stream. It was a warm day, and given his stink, Anne didn’t protest when Athos quickly submerged himself before they started up again. This time, he gave her the saddle and sat behind. Again, she made no protest at his choice. Granted, she had not been through what he had, or for as long, but her ride to Douai had been made with all haste, burning through horses as often as she could change them. She had barely slept and she was saddle sore. And that was before her recent blood loss. It went against the grain to let someone else take control, but it was Athos. It was _Athos_. Alive, with no hurts that wouldn’t heal.

“I believe we just passed back into France,” he said after they forded a creek. “And there is an inn not far from here that has long been a safe resting place for Musketeers.” She could feel him looking up at the dusky sky. “And none too soon. We both need food, stitches, and sleep.” He squeezed her in his arms as best he could with the reins in his hands. “Thank you for saving me.”

“So, some Musketeers do have manners,” she said.

Athos kissed the back of her head. “I’m not sure to what you refer, but I will happily listen to anything you have to say, because I’m just so happy to hear your voice.”

“When did you become so sentimental?” she asked, unable to repress a grin. Not wanting to repress it.

“I’ve long been sentimental. It has only been a long time since I was able to indulge it.”

***

The innkeeper was still the same man as the one who had taken such good care of them only a few weeks earlier when they returned from Douai with Aramis. Athos had never been so happy to see a squat, pockmarked man in all his life. He cheerfully saw Athos and Anne up to the room in the far corner, telling them along the way, “Only one other person here, and he’s a regular merchant who’s been staying here for years. He’s up front and no one will bother you. Except my missus. She’ll be bringing you hot water. And I’ll be bringing you food and wine.”

Athos was about to hint to Anne she give the man the generous sum he deserved when he saw her empty her money purse and hand a fistful of coins to the man.

When the door opened, all Athos could see was the large bed. He hadn’t laid down for over a week, and every aching part of his body screamed at him to do so now. But Anne came up behind him and grabbed his arm. “If you put your filthy body on that clean bed, I will be displeased. Chair.”

He allowed himself to be steered to a chair by the unlit fireplace. When he sat on the soft cushion he decided it was almost as good as the bed, but nothing would be as good as lying down. And Anne would be in that bed with him. He smiled in spite of his discomfort.

A moment later, the lady of the house brought in a bucket of steaming water and set it on the hearth. “There’s a basin and clean towels in the table by the bed. If you’re wanting the bath, that will be longer. Can only heat one of these at a time, but I do have another one going for you already.”

“This bucket and the next will be more than enough,” Anne said. “I think some cool water to drink would also be appreciated, if it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble whatsoever,” said the innkeeper’s skinny wife with a smile and a quick curtsy. She left the room, this time closing the door.

Anne sighed with a heavy grunt at the end. “I should have asked her for needle and thread. As soon as we’re both clean, there’s stitching to do.” She put a hand on his uninjured cheek. “Or we should ask if there’s a surgeon in town. I hate the idea of your face bearing the marks of my needlework.”

He turned his face and kissed her palm. “You carry far worse scars because of me.” He had to bite back a sob and told himself he was merely tired and overemotional because of his time as a prisoner. But there was still so much unresolved between them—so much he had yet to say to her that had started in the tunnel under the palace, but had yet to find completion. Not now, though, he decided. He turned his face up to hers, ignoring the confused pain he saw there. “Besides, I’m going to make a mess of your beautiful arm, I’ve no doubt.”

A swift knock on the door announced the return of the innkeeper with a tray of wine and food. He set it all on a table by the chair where Athos sat, and took a moment to move the chair from the dressing table over so Anne would have a place as well. “My wife is seeing to your water needs. Is there anything else?”

“Needle and thread,” Anne said. “We have a few wounds that need tending.”

“A moment,” Athos said as the innkeeper made to accede to her request. If Treville had sent her and helped her prepare for the journey, they could likely help themselves without troubling the innkeeper more than they already had. He nodded at the saddlebags on the coffer bench at the foot of the bed. “Did Treville pack those for you?”

Anne’s mouth twisted in that ugly way it only did when she was angry, and she had reacted similarly to every mention of Treville’s name. Although this was hardly the time to worry about it, Athos couldn’t help the disappointment that washed over him that whatever had happened between Anne and Treville in the closet before he left hadn’t lasted. “Yes,” she spat out.

“I doubt he sent you off without needle and thread, as well as other basic medical supplies. We should check before we put the kind gentleman or his wife to any trouble.”

“Oh, but it wouldn’t be trouble, I promise,” the innkeeper answered.

“And it is equally no trouble for us to check,” Anne said, bending over the saddlebags. She searched through the first, then began unpacking the second. A sour smile curled her lips as she took a small pouch from the bag and then started pulling out the contents. “You were right. In this regard, Minister Treville has seen to our needs quite well.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you have all you need,” the innkeeper nodded. “Should that turn out not to be the case, you just let me know. In fact, if I may suggest—”

“Harassing the guests with your hospitality again, Georges?” the wife asked, waddling in under the strain of another bucket of steaming water.

“Just making sure they’re comfortable. Hospitality is rather our line of business, after all,” he said to his wife. Turning back to Athos and Anne, he continued, “And I couldn’t help noticing your hurts. My wife has stitched up a fair number of wounds in her day.”

“Oh, that is true,” she said, straightening up. “Went with Georges back when he was fighting for King Henri. Sewed up a lot of men. If you two want some help, I’d be more than happy to do the same for you. Just didn’t know that you’d welcome me poking my nose, or my needle, where it wasn’t wanted.”

Anne sighed and held out the supplies she had just found. “Please. I hate the idea of what I might do to his face.”

***

The innkeeper’s wife, Claudette, had them both stitched, including the old bolt wound in his leg, with as much efficiency as Athos had ever witnessed from any of the army surgeons he had seen or Aramis. He was particularly pleased that she took care of Anne’s arm. She might be worried about marring his face, which made no difference to him, but her wound was deep, and he didn’t trust himself to close it well. And if that kindness had not been enough, the couple took Anne’s dress to repair as best as could be managed since she didn’t have another, and the innkeeper insisted enough clothing had been left behind over the years he could surely find Athos clean underclothes and a shirt.

While Anne had been getting her stitches, Athos had eaten, and vice versa, so when the couple left with Anne’s dress, they also took the empty food tray. “You want those buckets out of your way, just put them in the hall,” Claudette said. “And if you aren’t needing anything, we’ll leave you, unless you call for something.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Athos said.

“Your old captain, Minister Treville, was very good to my Georges during the war,” she whispered so her husband wouldn’t hear. “I wouldn’t have him if it weren’t for Treville, so I’ll happily do anything for one of his Musketeers. The debt I owe him will never be repaid.”

Athos smiled. “I owe him a similar debt, so I understand. Please know that should you ever need anything, the Musketeers are at your service.”

They left and he looked at Anne, wrapped in her cloak since all she now wore was her shift. She was lovely as always, even pale and tired, her hair coming loose. “It’s good to see you,” he whispered.

“You’ve been seeing me all day,” she said with a chuckle, dropping her cloak now that they were alone. “And you still smell. Off with everything.”

He walked over to her at the foot of the bed, stopping only inches from her. The moment the door had clicked closed behind Georges and Claudette, his cock had started stiffening and all he wanted was Anne. “I would love to take my clothes off,” he said, reaching up to brush a thumb across her cheek.

“To wash yourself. I told you that bed is off limits until you’re clean.”

“We don’t need to get anywhere near the bed for what I have in mind.” He kissed her softly for the brief moment it took his eyes to close, and then he pressed hard, ready to eat her alive.

She returned the kiss for far too short a time and broke away panting. “Bathing first.”

“Fucking first.”

Grabbing his arm, she dragged him over to the buckets of water. He frowned, but she did yank his stinking, tattered shirt off. “You think I’m not going to make washing you worthwhile? Have we not met?”

Her raised eyebrow made his cock throb in his pants. “If you insist on washing me, then yes, I will remove my clothes.” He went to work on the buttons of his pants, the laces of his underclothes, his socks and boots thankfully having been removed a while ago.

“I suppose I would rather not get this wet,” she said, stripping off her shift. She still had on her sturdy leggings that allowed her to ride astride comfortably, but no more. Athos dropped to his knees before her, kissing her bare stomach, the soft curls, the curve of her hip. And then with as much dexterity as his still aching hands could muster, he rolled her stockings down, leaving them both naked.

He tried to push his mouth between her legs, but Anne stood firm. “Washing, Athos. We’re here to get clean.”

“But I’m certain you’re already wet.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I’ve been wet ever since I saw you weren’t dead. And I’ll still be wet after we’re both clean.” Gently but without doubt as to her intention, she pushed his head away and stepped back. He looked at her hopefully, and she raised an eyebrow while she leaned down to dip a cloth in one of the buckets with a small cake of soap. She squeezed the excess water out before stepping back to him and lifting his chin. “Every time I think you might be dead, I want to rage at the world.”

“For five years, I wanted to die. When I thought of you…and it was my fault.”

“Never again. Let’s never talk about that again.” She stroked the cloth across his forehead, down his cheeks, behind his ears. He closed his eyes, loving the refreshing sensation. But he couldn’t keep them closed for long, not when he knew Anne, alive and well and in love with him, stood there naked. He reached up and stroked her hip, then squeezed, still desperate to taste her and fuck her.

“Wash faster.”

She wetted and soaped the cloth again, but there was nothing teasing about it—she was all business, in and out of the water, wringing it out at speed. And then she knelt as well, moving the cloth over his chest. She kissed him, soft and wet before raising first his right arm to wash and then his left. Moving as though she had somewhere to be and she was already late, Anne scurried back to the bucket to dampen the cloth and rub it with soap once more. She got up and moved around to his back. He still knelt on the hearth, but he spread his legs, so she might kneel between them. She rubbed the cloth hard over his skin to clean him, her breasts occasionally brushing against him.

“I can’t take more of this,” he panted. “Anne, please.”

Even though the cloth clearly could do with being wetted again, Anne did not return it to the bucket. Instead, she scrubbed the backs of his thighs and his calves as best she could. Sinking her teeth into his shoulder, she moaned. “Up,” she ordered when she let him go.

He didn’t hesitate, getting to his feet as fast as his aching muscles and joints and wounds would allow. Although she had complained of saddle sores and been in a fight to the death earlier that day in order to save him, she moved faster. Once more she dipped the cloth into the bucket. He followed her over, ready to rip the cloth from her hands and use the last of his strength to throw her on the bed, but now she knelt before him. She took his cock in her left hand and washed it with the cloth. Then she moved the cloth down his legs to wash his ankles and his feet. He would have protested, but he still felt her touch lingering on him, and it was heaven.

Just as that euphoria was wearing off, she started scrubbing his thighs, and while she did so, she swallowed him to the root. Automatically his hand dropped into her beautiful hair, not to guide her, but to help him maintain his own balance. She pulled back, the very tip of his cock the only part still in her mouth. Her tongue swirled over the tip, and Athos growled.

“I am clean enough,” he declared, pulling her entirely off his cock. Grabbing her by her upper arms, he brought her to her feet, and then he shoved her toward the bed.

She turned back and grinned at him. “But I’m not clean. Aren’t you going to wash me first?”

He walked full speed into her, forcing his mouth against hers, pushing her back until her legs hit the bed. “Later.” With one more shove, she lay flat on her back, panting, legs slightly spread, beckoning him.

He laid on top of her, the feel of their skin connecting glorious. Their mouths met again, and tongues fought past teeth and wrestled with each other. As always, he longed to touch every part of her, wanting to stroke her beautiful neck and tangle his fingers in her hair endlessly. But then he concentrated on the feeling of her breasts against his chest and he wanted to have his hands around them. However, there was only one real option.

Shifting to the side, he slipped his hand between her legs. She was as slick as she had promised, and he pushed two fingers in, and then pulled them back, damp, and rubbed her clit. She groaned loudly into his shoulder, and he could tell she was as sensitive as she ever got. Normally, he would be gentle with her, come at her from the side, but not tonight. Tonight he wanted to feel everything, and he wanted her to feel it, too. They were alive and naked and he had to have her over and over and over again.

He bent his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She was coming, already overwhelmed with sensation. He kept the pressure on with his hand and sucked hard with his mouth, not even letting go when she started hitting his shoulders.

“Oh, God, Athos,” she cried, and that finally made him stop and look up to see tears in her eyes. “Thank God.”

They had landed diagonally on the bed when he pushed her over. Now she pulled him onto the bed straight and pushed him flat on his back. In the time it took him to inhale, she straddled him, having no trouble lowering herself onto his cock. With as little gentleness as he had shown her, she began riding him, rocking her hips violently. He reached behind her with his fingers, still wet from her, and probed her. She leaned forward, taking hold of the headboard, and he pushed a finger inside her as she continued to ride him. He knew this angle would touch her inside just where she wanted it, and he knew how much every nerve ending in her body must be primed. As she cursed and moaned, he stuck a second sticky finger inside her. She started to shake, and he couldn’t stop himself from following her over to the edge this time.

Even though she fell on top of him, he never removed his fingers, still steadily moving them in and not quite out. His cock ached inside of her, and in spite of how hard and thoroughly he had just spent, he knew he wanted more. He needed to keep making love with her to remind himself that they were both alive. So he kept working her as she moaned, and soon she began pushing back, looking for more. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring any oil?”

She laughed. “I think our host and hostess understand our predicament. She left the oil from the bread she brought with our supper, along with the wine. And put it all on the bedside table.”

Athos craned his neck, and sure enough, a small jar of olive oil he had opened to dribble on his bread at dinner sat next to the wine bottle. Without hesitation, he plucked it up, holding it out to her. “Get the cork.”

The bottle open, thanks to Anne’s help, Athos took his fingers from inside of her. She grimaced, but said nothing—not that she had to. He knew that empty feeling. Dribbling oil on his middle three fingers, he wiggled to his side and she moved to lay flat on her stomach. He pushed in with the same two fingers he had been using. She whimpered into the pillow, clenching around him, before she relaxed and sighed with want.

“Do you remember the day we went out for a drive in the cart?” he asked.

She growled and wiggled her behind. “How could I ever forget?”

He hummed, the memory still enough to make him tingle. “It started to rain, so I hurried the horse on, and we hit that rut hard and lost a wheel.” She hummed in return and he twisted his fingers until she gasped. “And then the rain really started, just pouring huge, cold drops, so we ran to the bridge over the creek and hid underneath.”

She was grinding harder against him, clearly wanting more. And as much as he wanted to give it to her, he knew he needed a little more time to recover. So he twisted his fingers again and then scissored them slowly as he listened to her whimper once more into the pillow.

“I gathered your skirts up to your waist and pushed you against the wall of the bridge and fucked you until you were cursing as loud as the thunder.” He pushed into her harder and faster, trying to make her scream like that again—the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

“But you wanted more,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “So I crawled under your skirts and licked you, tasting my spend still dripping from you. But that still wasn’t enough. I reached around you and I pushed my finger inside you. You came all over my face. I barely got you washed out of my beard before that blasted helpful farm boy found us and offered to help.”

“God,” she groaned. “I wanted to drown him in the creek.”

“But I made up for it when we got home.” His cock finally starting to respond again, he pushed in his third slicked finger. She clutched the blanket and howled into the pillow, pushing back on his hand, desperate for him to fuck her harder. “You were freezing and I built a fire. I stretched you out on the rug in front of the blaze and pulled every blanket and pillow off the bed to make you more comfortable. And I did this.” He pushed deep and twisted. She was so open and ready for him, just as soon as he was ready for her.

“I almost didn’t finish with you before the maid knocked on the door to tell us that the hot water for the bath was ready.”

Anne growled incoherently into the bed, beating the mattress with her firsts as he pushed harder and deeper and faster. He was almost there. So close. He just had to finish remembering that day.

“And so we went to the other room and sank into that tiny tub together. We washed every inch of each other over and over, and I sucked your toes.” Anne tried to laugh through her whimpering. Athos picked the oil up from the table and did his best to spill the contents into the palm of his hand and not all over the bed. He thought he mostly succeeded, but he was too busy spreading what did make it onto his hand the length of his cock. “You said I didn’t need to suck your toes ever again, but I could fuck your ass any time I wanted it.”

He removed his fingers and Anne gasped. As quickly as he could, he moved between her legs and pulled her up onto all fours. Grabbing her hips, he slowly pushed in. “I never stopped wanting it, Anne.” He pulled her back farther onto him. “I never stopped wanting you.”

She yelled and beat her fists on the bed again, but she was pushing back as hard as he was thrusting into her. How did she always feel perfect? She felt so good, in fact, so tight and warm, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even say her name. All he could manage in this world was to grunt and thrust and grip her hips so tightly she could never get away, never leave him again. And then he was screaming and spending, everything before him going black and blurred with pleasure.


	22. Chapter 22

If Treville had ever been this tired before, he honestly couldn’t remember. Likely he had been back when he fought for Henri. Even a young man at war gets exhausted, after all. But now that he was old, tired was more than the mere need of sleep. It was an all-consuming weariness that made the body ache and the mind blur. He was nearing Spanish territory, having caught no sign or word of Athos or Anne the entire length of France. Even though it wasn’t late in the morning yet, he had already been in the saddle for four hours and his eyes did not want to stay open. He would stop at the inn of Georges and Claudette and sleep before entering Spanish lands under the cover of night.

All looked quiet at the inn, a few horses in the stable, but not full. Wisps of smoke came out of the kitchen chimney and a healthy dog with a wagging tail sat outside the door. After settling his horse in the stable, Treville scratched the dog behind the ears, smiling, happy that the couple looked to be doing well. He prayed the war would do nothing to change that. Georges, and Claudette for that matter, had seen enough of war and deserved a quiet old age. Of course, they had always said they had been lucky to stay together under circumstances that pulled most couples apart. “Can’t tell you how many women envy my ability to sew up my own husband’s wound,” she had said when she had been pulling needle and thread through Georges’s arm. “You men probably think we’d rather be at home with our delicate sensibilities, and I suppose there are some women who would be. But there are just as many men who’d like to join them. Point being, we birth babies and tend the sick and wounded during peacetimes. There’s nothing that keeps most of us from being fit and willing to do the same in war.”

Treville jogged up the few steps to the front door, and as he walked inside the inn, Claudette’s words from all those years ago made him think of Anne. The two women had led vastly different lives, but somehow he thought they would like each other. Well, at the very least, they would appreciate each other.

“Well, if it isn’t Minister Treville!” said the very women whose voice he had just been hearing in his head. “Somehow, I’m not even surprised to see you.” Claudette set aside her sewing and stood, a beaming smile covering her face.

Treville entered the simple, clean parlor and embraced her lightly but warmly, swiftly kissing both of her cheeks. “Not surprised? Do you always assume old friends will come through your door?” He held her at arm’s length and grinned, happy to be doing so for the first time since Anne left Paris, or really since word of Athos’s capture had reached them. Nothing bad had happened on his ride north, people were much as they always were, if perhaps slightly tense and worried because of war. But his mood had been such that the urge to smile or to find joy in anything did not exist for him. Athos was missing, and Anne had ridden off to unsuspected dangers because of him. The weight and worry felt like a literal strain on his body.

But then he saw what Claudette was sewing. Unless he was mistaken, it was Anne’s dress she had been wearing when she’d left. He looked at Claudette, feeling hope for the first time since Aramis had told him about the innkeeper in Douai.

Claudette smiled and nodded. “She’s here. Along with a Musketeer.”

Treville wanted to kiss her. “Where are they?”

“In the back room,” she said, picking up the dress and biting off the thread with her teeth. Sticking the needle back in a pincushion, she grabbed some men’s underclothes and a shirt from a stool and gestured for him to follow. “They’re both a little worse for wear, but nothing that won’t heal,” she said, talking to him over her shoulder as they hurried down the hall. “Stitched them up myself.”

“They couldn’t have been in better hands,” he said, feeling real relief at the fact. “What needed your attention?”

“He had a jagged cut from I don’t know what on his cheek. His beard will cover most of it, and the rest will look rakish. And an old bolt wound in his leg, but that was already healing. She felt a good deal of someone’s steel on the back of her left forearm. Too bad no one thinks ladies should look rakish. She’s going to hate long sleeves in the summer.”

“If fashion is the only victim, I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

Claudette headed up a narrow staircase and turned to a door on her left when she reached the top. “Thought they might appreciate the privacy,” she whispered. “They look awfully in love.”

Treville swallowed, wondering if Anne had told Athos what they had done after he had left Paris. Was he about to join them both in love? His mouth dry and stomach churning, now that he knew they were safe, he realized he wanted nothing more.

Claudette knocked. “Morning,” she called through the door, then paused to listen. Treville heard nothing. “There’s a friend here to see you.” She moved aside and nodded to Treville. With a hesitant step, he shuffled to the door, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. He nodded and smiled to Claudette, who handed him the clothes, then he pushed the door open.

They lay together in bed, the blanket pulled up to cover them, but bare arms and shoulders stuck out at the top. Anne lay on Athos’s chest, her black hair sprawled across him. He, in turn, had his arms wrapped around her, looking equal parts protective and affectionate. Treville wanted nothing more than to strip and crawl in with them and sleep the day away.

Athos’s face immediately woke at the sight of Treville, and his smile spread. Anne, however, scowled. Treville gripped the glove in his pocket that still smelled of her, and he wondered what had changed since she had left him. Well, she had found Athos, for one. And nearly lost an arm, for another. Treville wondered how much she thought the latter was his fault. He felt the fault was entirely his  own.

But he couldn’t just stand there. He kicked the door closed and walked to Athos’s side of the bed. “I believe Claudette wants me to give you these,” he said, holding out the clothes.

Athos tore the clothes from Treville and threw them on the bed. Sitting up swiftly, he wrapped his arms around Treville’s neck and pulled him into a hug. Treville could have done anything more easily than resist Athos. His own arms wrapped around Athos’s naked back and gripped him so tightly someone might have to find a crowbar to detach him.

Or just a withering scowl from Anne would do the trick.

Treville kissed Athos’s cheek, and he pulled back under her awful glare. She was sitting, the sheet tucked under her armpits, staring hate at Treville over Athos’s shoulder. It broke Treville’s heart. He hadn’t often dared hope, but when he and Anne had made love, he had seen the future Athos had wanted, one with all three of them. Looking at Anne now, nothing had ever felt less possible.

“Anne,” he said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you both safe. Thank you.”

“Yes,” she sneered. “Thank me, because I rescued Athos, no thanks to you.”

“What?” asked Athos, turning to her. “What’s going on?”

“Anne set off to rescue you with wrong information,” Treville explained, willing to admit his mistake and ask them both for forgiveness. “Wrong information I gave her. I found out the day after she left, and I rode immediately to come find you both.”

She snorted. “How generous. But you can see I didn’t need you.” She turned away, letting the sheet fall and swinging her feet out of bed. She snatched up her shift, and as it fell over her head, Treville realized he had been staring at her elegant, bare back. Standing, she whirled around to face them. And now, Treville could see how long the bandage on her left arm stretched. And that was his fault.

“I don’t understand precisely what happened in the planning of my rescue,” Athos said, looking back and forth at them, his brow furrowed. “But I’m certain Treville provided the best information he could. And why are you here? You’re the Minister of War. You can’t ride off after missing officers when you receive new information. This is most unlike you.”

“No, he usually lets his mistakes play out with no further interference, like Savoy. Pass me my dress.”

“Anne, that is unfair,” Athos said, while Treville leaned across the bed to give Anne her dress.

“She’s not saying anything that isn’t true,” Treville said. “But don’t worry about me being here. I resigned my office before I left Paris.”

“Well, at least one good thing will have come from this disaster.” Anne tried to adjust the new, shorter sleeves of her dress, Claudette clearly having been forced to make alterations.

“You can’t have resigned,” Athos said while glaring at Anne.

“I handed Aramis my letter of resignation before I left the palace.”

Anne threw back her head and guffawed. “Oh, well, if you left it to Aramis, God only knows what actually happened to your letter.”

“Aramis is the one who told me the information I’d given you was wrong. He knew the former owner of the Swan was dead, and under mysterious circumstances. You should thank him.”

“For what? I rescued Athos without Aramis’s revelation. Besides, he still owes me for saving his life. Something he has yet to thank me for.”

“Can we leave Aramis out of this?” Athos pleaded. “Treville, you must beg the king for your position back when we return to Paris.”

“Why?” Anne snapped before Treville could answer. “He’s not fit for it. The first time he turned Louis down was the one time he did the right thing. He cannot deal with men at court, and I’ve never seen someone with so little facility for spycraft. Perhaps I should offer my service to Louis directly and see if something useful can’t be accomplished.”

“Do not say that,” Athos hissed.

“Say what? That your mentor is an incompetent?”

“That you would ever approach the king directly.”

She sighed. “Seeing as how you are incapable of looking after yourself, I’m not sure you’re really in any place to tell me what I should and should not do.”

“That’s not what I meant, as you well know.”

Treville’s stomach clenched in sympathy with Athos. He knew what Anne’s affair with the king had done to him. And yet, Treville could not ignore all she had said. “She’s right about one thing,” Treville whispered. “I was never the right man for the job. I’m glad I’ve left before anything worse happened.”

“All of this over one piece of mistaken intelligence that didn’t end up preventing the mission from being successfully completed?” Athos shook his head, not understanding any better than Treville how they had reached this point. Pushing off the sheet, he picked up the underclothes Treville had brought in. Now that Treville could see Athos’s entire body, he had to fight back a gasp at the bruises and welts. Suddenly, who was Minister of War and what Anne did when they returned to Paris mattered not at all.

“Who did this to you?” Treville asked. “And is he dead?”

Anne jumped in. “Yes, she is dead. I killed her.”

“Yes, the woman in charge of my imprisonment is dead, but not the man behind her.”

“What are you talking about?” Anne glared at Athos, clearly displeased he hadn’t shared this information sooner. Treville decided to just count himself lucky Athos had more information, and that there might still be someone for him to punish for what had happened to Athos.

“He doesn’t believe I saw him, but I clearly recognized the Chevalier de la Garmeaux when they were transferring me from my first prison to the Swan. He said nothing to help me understand his schemes, but he is responsible for what happened to me.”

The Chevalier de la Garmeaux responsible? But Treville thought his father, the comte, had reluctantly attempted to help them, but by giving them the wrong information. Anne worked it all out more quickly. “And who slipped that note under your door about the Swan?” she asked. “I believe you were guessing it must be the Comte de la Garmeaux. A coincidence I’m sure.”

Treville rubbed his aching eyes. The days when an exciting event provided a second wind were long past. He was still as exhausted as when he rode up to the inn, and yet, he couldn’t imagine staying. “Finding the chevalier and uncovering who gave us the false information will be our first priorities when we get back to Paris.”

“Your first priority should be finding new employment. Well, a new place to live, actually.” Anne gave him that horrible, sour look of hers. He had hoped he’d seen the last of that face, and his heart ached for what might have been.

“I’ll go see Claudette and Georges about provisions for the road,” said Treville. “Will you both be ready to ride in half an hour?”

“Only if Georges and Claudette also have a horse for sale,” answered Anne. “My horse carried double yesterday, and I think Athos would be more comfortable in a saddle of his own.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Treville said. But before he turned to leave, he reached up and patted Athos’s cheek. Athos closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Treville had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” He dropped his hand and walked swiftly out through the door before Anne could possibly say anything.


	23. Chapter 23

They were half way back to Paris, and Athos still didn’t understand what was happening between Anne and Treville. Their first night out, they stayed at another inn where Treville had a contact and were given two rooms. Once Treville was settled in his, and he and Anne were in their own, he had said, “There is something going on between you and Treville, and it’s more than the fact his information was out of date.”

“What? Almost dying and failing to rescue you isn’t a good enough reason to be upset with a man who’s never had an ounce of love to spare for me?”

Athos had let it drop, but her words didn’t convince him. Not that he could say for certain if she was lying—she could still hide herself frighteningly well from him when she chose. But he knew Treville and the way he refused to fight back against her was wrong. Yes, he blamed himself for the bad information, because he was conscientious and a good soldier, but he had been a commander far too long to not appreciate that unreliable information was a hazard of any mission. And yet, here Treville was, taking every bit of vitriol Anne hurled at him. Perhaps he was doing it for Athos’s sake, but that didn’t feel right, either.

So now here they were at a roadside inn after grabbing quick refreshments for themselves and their horses, and Athos, rather than joining them loading the horses outside of the stable, hovered near the door. He watched Treville trying to help Anne with a strap on her saddle, but she snapped at him. Rather than forcing his way in and fixing the problem or standing back and smugly watching her struggle (the two options Athos had seen him use over and over with Musketeers), he slowly dropped his hand and head in defeat.

Anne went after the strap with such gusto her horse whinnied. Treville might be beaten by Anne, but he had too much respect for horses to let her hurt the animal. He straightened his spine, rested a gloved hand atop hers, and started speaking. Athos was too far away to hear, so he merely looked on in confusion and longing until he was interrupted from even watching.

“Oh, sir,” said the innkeeper, bustling up next to him. “The provisions are ready if you’d like to come in and help grab them. I mean, I certainly could get them all, but I’m just an old lady, and I can’t carry it all very fast.”

If he had to guess, Athos thought she looked forty and in excellent health. Nevertheless, they would be off sooner if he helped. And nothing would be accomplished by his continued observations of the two people he most loved other than making his heart ache more. “Of course,” he said, following the woman inside.

***

Because of his angle, Treville could see better than Anne what was wrong with her strap. But his every attempt to speak to her, even about important issues, had been met either with icy silence or hot words. He’d never liked to watch people struggle in silence. He liked to help and instruct. It’s what had made him a good Captain of the Musketeer and a terrible Minister of War.

“It’s twisted.” He reached between her hands for the strap. “I can fix it—“

“I don’t need any more of your help,” she rounded on him. “I do know how to saddle a damned horse.”

Treville took his hand away. Another lesson he’d learned training men is that there are fewer things more difficult in this world than making someone accept help they were dead set on refusing. Then Anne yanked so forcefully the horse whinnied. Watching a horse suffer was harder than letting a person turn down assistance, however.

“You can be as mad at me as you want, but if you hurt this horse, we will have a problem.”

She took a deep breath and set to work straightening the strap with discernible calm. He watched her silently for a moment, just as he had watched her since he’d walked into the room she and Athos had shared at Georges and Claudette’s. For days, he’d said nothing else to heal the breach or explain himself further. But he couldn’t do that forever. Athos was a man who could suffer in indefinite silence. Treville was a man who spoke his peace, for good or ill. “Get it out to get it over,” de Foix used to say.

“I’ve been responsible for a great many men’s, and women’s, lives over the years.” He spoke softly but with a clarity he knew she couldn’t miss. “I’ve always sent them on missions with the information I had, not the information I wished I had. Could I have checked into the innkeeper of the Swan more before I sent you? Of course I _could_ have. But every minute I might have spent on that would have meant another wound on Athos’s body or worse. So,” he paused to clear his throat, “I am sorry you went into Douai with false information that led to a dangerous situation. But that is war. I did what I could. Because I believe another man could be better, I resigned and set off to be as helpful as I might. I hope you will accept this apology.”

Anne had long finished fixing the strap and she now stood still, staring at the horse, not acknowledging his words. He waited, hoping for some sign, but none came nor did it seem likely to. Once more, placing his hand atop hers, he gained courage when she didn’t pull away.

“I appreciate your anger, Anne. You can’t know how sick I felt the entire ride north until I found the two of you. My…affection for you both—“

“Stop,” she bit into his words. She pulled her hand away as though she only now realized it had been in a fire. “Just stop.”

***

Old habits were always so easy to fall back on. Athos had nearly died. She hadn’t fared much better. The entire ride from Douai to the inn, she had trembled with fear and fury. Many of her emotions had found release in Athos’s body at the inn, but even after their night of passion, of reveling in each other’s touch, taste, scent, anger had remained. The morning after rescuing Athos, they had laid there, tangled together, Athos still asleep, but she had been awake. She felt rage in her stomach every time her fingers brushed a welt on Athos’s chest, saw the stitches in his ragged beard. Despite killing the woman who had hurt him, she still felt the ire. Athos was scarred and would never be the same. Someone else must face her wrath, because she still had so much inside she felt she would explode with it.

And then Treville had opened the door.

For years, dating back to when she served the Cardinal, Treville had been the enemy. Hatred could always be focused on him. So when she had found it hard to continue directing her bile at Athos after burning la Fère but seeing him wearing her locket, she had changed the target of her hatred to Treville.

Even now as they headed home to Paris, as Athos pointed out she might be behaving unreasonably, she continued to rage at Treville. After seven years— _seven years_ —without Athos, she had him back at last. But that had all nearly ended because Treville had sent Athos on this ridiculous mission instead of learning to manipulate Louis to sanity, and then sent only her to rescue him with bad information. She might have lost her husband, and the idea made her want to vomit.

So when Treville spoke of feeling sick, of feeling affection for them, she couldn’t listen to another second of his excuses. Not even though his words had sounded sincere. And his touch had felt so right. No. She couldn’t do this. Treville was the enemy. Richelieu had had the right of it with him. The Cardinal had been a much clearer judge of people than Athos, after all.

“Stop,” she said, yanking her hand away, even though it somehow felt like she’d left skin behind to do so, like flesh stuck to metal in winter. “Just stop. Your excuses and apologies don’t interest me.”

“Anne.” Treville put his hand, his gloved hand, the glove that had touched her the morning she had left Paris, on her shoulder. “I had to tell you what I felt. I don’t resent your anger. I have a good deal of anger for myself over this. But for Athos’s sake, can’t we be civil and work together?”

“Athos is who I’m thinking of,” she said. Now she looked at him, thought she could finally trust herself to do so. He looked hurt, yet ready to take another blow like the old soldier he was. Fine. She could give him more. She unfastened the cloak, his cloak, and swung it off her shoulders. “You can have this back. I don’t need it. Take it and yourself and fade away into retirement when we return to Paris. Leave us to our marriage and the running of France to better men.”

He instinctively grasped the cloak since she forced it into his hands, but he didn’t have the chance to reply, Athos arriving with the innkeeper and their supplies. But she had hurt Treville. He visibly crumpled at her words. Good. Although he still didn’t hurt half so much as she had when she had walked into that cellar to find Athos bloody and bruised. He never would.


	24. Chapter 24

By the time they rode into Paris, Athos could not care less if he and Anne accompanied Treville to the palace or went to the garrison directly instead. They, however, both felt passionately on the question, and that Athos couldn’t ignore. Treville wanted them to accompany him to the Louvre to report to whomever was in charge, believing that to be the correct protocol. Anne said she didn’t give a damn who was in charge; she wanted to sleep for a week in her husband’s bed. Athos thought his own duty dictated he stop and check in with his command before heading to the palace to report. But when it came to military orders, no matter what position Treville did or did not hold, Athos would always follow his decision. Anne was clearly upset, but Athos needed to know who his new commander was, as much as he despised the idea of someone other than Treville being his superior.

So, Anne went along with them to the palace just after sundown, grumbling and unhappy, but she went. And Athos was immediately pleased he chose to accompany Treville. They arrived at the gate and were let in, the guard still calling Treville “Minister,” while another ran ahead. Treville had told Athos what Louis had said in regards to his rescue, and Athos had no hard feelings about the king’s reasonable decision. But he now wondered what Louis would make of his return to Paris, and what sort of explanation he would expect. Would he be happy or furious? Had he already appointed another Captain of the Musketeers? If so, Athos hoped he had selected Porthos. D’Artagnan wasn’t ready yet, and after Rochefort’s accusations, having Aramis at Louis's side would be impossible. That left dependable, smart, respected, and eminently fit Porthos. Yes, he would make an excellent commander.

And here Porthos was meeting them at the palace stables with Aramis and d’Artagnan in tow! Athos hadn’t expected to find his brothers here to greet him, but he was thrilled to see them. To see them smiling was an even greater joy. D’Artagnan held the reins of his horse while Aramis helped him from the saddle. Porthos was holding Treville’s reins, and Athos couldn’t help but notice Anne had to manage on her own.

“My God, it is good to see you,” Aramis said, wrapping Athos in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “But I should have never doubted you would escape.”

“Once again, you fail to understand the fundamental difference between escape and rescue,” Anne said, walking around Athos’s horse to join him. “But I expected no less from you.”

“If you were instrumental to placing Athos before me at this moment, then I thank you with all my heart,” Aramis said in a tone Athos knew well to be sincere, but Anne probably found suspect.

Porthos slapping Treville’s back was so loud, it drew Athos’s attention, making him smile in spite of Aramis and Anne’s bickering. “Welcome back, Minister,” Porthos said pulling Treville into a tight hug.

“Not ‘Minister,’” Treville said, pulling back.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that’s still right,” d’Artagnan said, leading Athos’s horse into a stall. “Just ask Aramis.”

All eyes turned to Aramis, who smiled and demurred, this particular gesture not especially genuine. “I may have forgotten to give his majesty your letter of resignation,” he said to Treville. “In fact, I may have burned your letter and informed the king you had gone to a monastery near Versailles to recover from a horrible indisposition. So bad, in fact, he should not expect to hear from you for several weeks. He will be most pleased by your speedy recovery.”

“You _burned_ my letter?” Treville seethed.

“It struck me as a rather good idea,” Aramis said, the smile never slipping from his lips. “Besides, if you truly resigned, you were no longer my superior officer and I did not need to follow your orders.”

Treville shook his head, but Athos could not be more pleased with Aramis. “You have put me in a terrible position,” Treville said. “I must now either lie to the king or expose you as a liar.” He sighed. “And God knows I’ve done enough to protect you, I’m not going to make that all for naught by questioning your character to his majesty now.”

“Exactly as Aramis hoped,” d’Artagnan said, slapping Treville on the shoulder. His careless gesture turned to a deliberate squeeze of affection. “We’re better off with you. Trust me. Things have been a mess while you’ve been gone.”

“Oh?” Treville asked with a raised eyebrow. “What’s happened?”

“Garmeaux is now on the council, for one, replacing Thibault,” Aramis said. “And don’t ask me why Thibault left the council. There aren’t even good rumors to explain it. As soon as all of this started to happen, I knew burning your letter was the best choice I’d ever made.”

Treville, Anne, and Athos all looked at each other in horror. “Garmeaux’s son was involved in Athos’s imprisonment,” Treville told the others in a harsh whisper. “But no one knows that we are aware of that fact, including the Chevalier de la Garmeaux, which is how I believe we should keep it while we investigate if father and son are in league. But even not knowing that, the king is well aware that the Comte de la Garmeaux is in touch with Marie de Medici. What if he sent his son on to tell her you were coming, and that’s how Athos was ambushed?” Treville ran a hand down his face with a sigh. “I supposed the king hopes to win Garmeaux’s trust this way. Just tell me no one is listening to him.”

“More than they should,” Aramis said. “I’ve heard that some of the old guard, especially those who were loyal to Louis against Marie, are not, but a lot of the new men like the Marquis de Beauchene think he is in favor, and they are not entirely wrong.”

Aramis, with occasional interjections from Porthos and d’Artagnan continued to fill in Treville on what had happened at court in his absence. In the meantime, Anne unpacked her horse and looked ready to depart. Athos slipped away and joined her beside her horse as she hoisted her belongings over her shoulder.

“Are you headed to the garrison?” Athos asked quietly so as not to disturb the others.

“No. I’m going back to my own rooms to bathe and change.”

“Yes, you need fresh clothes. You know you can bring everything to the garrison if you wish. We’ll find space somewhere.” He had assumed this is what she wished, but perhaps she only wanted to sleep in his bed when it suited her. They should have discussed it, but somehow on the ride back it had never felt like a convenient moment to ask his wife to live with him.

“I think not,” she answered. “I have things I need to do that can be better done if I’m on my own.”

Athos tried to catch her eye, but she focused intently on the inside of one of her bags. She might be searching for something in there, but he didn’t think so. “How long will that take?”

“Impossible to say.”  
  
Athos grabbed her upper arm and pulled her into an empty stall. “But we have…reconciled, have we not?”

Finally, she met his gaze, and he wished she had not. The last night on the road, she had pulled away from him, and he had told himself it was exhaustion, that she was not used to the level of human contact they had shared since his rescue. But the part of him that always expected the worst, that had given up hope long ago, said her desire to distance herself marked a change for the worse. And here it was, as he always feared, her bitter glare judging him harshly.

“Of course you would have to ask,” she answered. “The simple fact is, I have unfinished work for the Crown for which I have already been paid. I cannot be Mrs. Musketeers and perform that duty.”

“What will you be doing?” Athos asked, scenarios racing through his mind, all of them unpleasant.

“What Treville failed to do—provide useful information that might actually keep Louis on his throne and the rest of you safe.”

With no further explanation, she pushed past him and out of the stall. He could think of nothing else to say, so he watched impotently as she walked toward the door out of the stable. When she reached the others, Treville tried to catch her eye, but she just kept on, Treville’s gaze following her exit as helplessly as Athos.

Once Anne was gone, Treville turned to Athos with a frown. He seemed nearly as despondent as Athos that she had left without explanation. If Treville and Anne had been hostile at the beginning of the return trip to Paris, it had only grown worse as they neared the city. More silent, yes, but clearly with more pain and anger. Perhaps Athos would ask Treville later. For now, d’Artagnan threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him back into the circle with Treville and his other brothers. Porthos pounded him on the back until Athos grimaced, still sore even after all the days of freedom. But he welcomed their affections. Whatever happened with Anne next, these men still loved him, and he couldn’t be more happy to be home with them.

***

Anne barely washed and she’d never changed so quickly in her life. But she needed to present herself to those at court, and hopefully Louis himself, as quickly as possible. Certainly before Athos and Treville had a chance to say much of anything to him. She would only have one chance to prove to Louis that she could serve him better than Treville. Sometimes she wondered why she cared. Louis and France and the rest of it could go to the devil. She owed her country absolutely nothing. But Athos would always feel differently.

Last night, as they lay in their narrow inn bed together, she had thought long on the matter. Having the official sanction of the king to gather information and access to the right ears to pour it into would help Athos more than anything else she could do. Of course, she and Louis had not parted on good terms, but it had by no means been disastrous. Especially in light of what Louis had discovered about Rochefort since. No, she did not doubt her ability to return to Louis’s good graces. Just how good she desired it to be, she still didn’t know. She had no urge to sleep with him again. But would she if it helped Athos? When she had mentally answered “yes,” she’d moved away from Athos in the bed, knowing what she might have to do.

With a deep breath, she walked down the hall to the reception room, adjusting her sleeve to make sure her bandage wasn’t showing. Most of court was gathered there before supper, consuming obscene quantities of wine, gossiping, and scheming. In the workings of court, not much had changed since her fall from favor, other than the fact the stakes in what had been rather petty conversations were now quite high. Her kind of game.

And she had come tonight ready to play. Risking Treville and Athos beating her to pre-supper conversation, she had stopped to see Emeline at Montcourt’s Tavern to find out what she had learned. She had heard Garmeaux’s servants on their night off discussing the amount of correspondence currently traveling between their household and Lorraine. Particularly interesting news since they had been working under the assumption he was closer with Marie. But, of course, his son was old friends with Gaston, who was at Lorraine’s court. Anne had also spoken to the two guards at the palace she had long relied upon for information. Louis would probably be shocked at what the men knew. Treville would be apoplectic if he knew what they were willing to tell her for no more than a wide smile and a promise to return the favor someday. She was finally armed and ready to do battle at court.

Candles and chandeliers were all so ablaze in the reception room, one might think it was day. She had no problem with this. No more hiding in the shadows. Tonight she announced herself, and either she succeeded or she didn’t. If Louis refused to accept her help, dismissed her out of hand, she didn’t have much more of a play. She could continue working for Treville, but that struck her as insupportable. She had too much anger to work for him with anything nearing professionalism. She would just have to find some other way to help Athos. To keep him safe, which was all that mattered.

Unsurprisingly, she had managed to make no friends and quite a few enemies in her time at court. One of these enemies—Paget, the supposed diplomat and friend of Janvier and the Garmeauxs—spotted her shortly after she stepped into the room. Rather than announcing her presence to the room, he walked straight for her, a sly grin spreading his thin lips. She really couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.

“Well, if it isn’t Milady de Winter.” He smirked when he reached her, not bothering to take her hand or greet her in any polite manner. “I thought you had been dismissed from court. Don’t tell me the king has welcomed you back. That is something I simply cannot imagine.”

She smirked right back at him, the bastard. “You won’t have to imagine it. You’re about to witness it firsthand.” With a nod of her head, Anne decided it was now or never. Louis stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by many of the stupidest men in France and a couple of their ridiculous wives. She headed for them, still debating between seductive and contrite.

“You!” hissed someone in the crowd around Louis. The bodies parted until she and Garmeaux were staring at each other, no one between them save Louis.

The king turned and saw her, his mouth dropping open in surprise before closing, his jaw clenched in anger. Contrite. Anne dropped into her lowest curtsy, which just so happened to show her cleavage to advantage. “No reason to completely dismiss seduction,” she thought.

“Your majesty. Forgive my intrusion, but I am here to offer my humble talents in the service of France. I know you dismissed me, which was only fair,” she hurried on before Louis could interrupt or she could choke on her own words, “but I believe I can be of help to you, and I could not stay away when I might be able to perform any useful duty to my crown and country.” She lowered herself into an even deeper curtsy, actively straining her thighs and resting her chin on her chest so that she could no longer see his reaction. Either she had made a good opening or she was done. Seeing his face wouldn’t change that.

“Milady,” Louis said, clearly flustered. A good sign to her mind. “This is most irregular. You were ordered to leave court. And what possible service could a woman perform for France?”

“I’m sure your troops could always use another whore,” said Garmeaux.

Anne wasn’t so stupid as to answer Garmeaux here and now, but he would live to regret that remark. And it turned out she did not need to defend herself at the moment. The Chevalier Romilly, whose part she still could not fathom, came to her rescue now. “That is no way to speak to a lady,” Romilly said. “And, sire, if I may, the women of France are an untapped resource who just might help us turn the tide against Spain. If Milady de Winter has a suggestion for how she may be of service, I think a woman of her intelligence and resourcefulness at least deserves a hearing.”

“Thank you,” she forced herself to say with a smile, even though she still wished to have a long talk with him about his friend the Chevalier de la Garmeaux. “You show real wisdom for one of your age. Not to mention a gallantry sorely missing in some men twice as old.”

Louis sighed and rolled his eyes. Anne had to fight back a smile, because she knew precisely what his next word would be. “Fine,” he heaved out. “While I am not yet officially welcoming you back to court, because the fact you simply turned up here goes expressly against my wishes, I will hear you out nonetheless, Milady. After all, you are rather known for just turning up, so I should not have been as surprised as I was.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” she said with another curtsy. “Your kindness is an inspiration. I don’t deserve such magnanimity.”

“Oh, come now,” Louis said, and she could hear the grateful smirk on his face without even having to look. “Stand up straight, Milady, and tell me what you can do for France.”

She pulled herself up erect and did her best to smile genuinely and not sneer at Garmeaux or simper at Louis. The time might come for both, but this wasn’t it. In fact, she now wondered if this was actually the time to tell Louis exactly what she might do for him. She had been so unsure of success and had so little time to prepare, she had not envisioned interviewing for the job, as it were, in front of most of the court.

“I must admit, your majesty, I would feel more comfortable discussing this privately with you.”

“Ha!” Garmeaux said, his stomach shaking with laughter. “I’ve no doubt you would.”

She didn’t spare her sneer this time. “So, you would like for all the court to hear about your flurry of correspondence with the Duke of Lorraine? I’d rather thought you would prefer as few people as possible knew about that.”

Garmeaux’s mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water fighting for air. “I…there is nothing objectionable to writing the Duke of Lorraine. And I think ‘flurry’ is overstating the fact.”

“So, would you characterize it more as a light rain then?” Louis giggled, drunkenly amused at his metaphor.

“He is an old friend,” Garmeaux protested. “My loyalty to you, sire, should never be in doubt.”

Garmeaux continued to ramble, defending himself against Anne’s accusation as Romilly slipped away from the group. She followed his movements to the door, through which Athos and Treville entered. They immediately began speaking, rapid and soft. Well, if she had to guess, Romilly said something polite about Athos still being alive, and Athos thanked him, and then Treville and Romilly spoke. She wanted to know what they were saying, if he mentioned the younger Garmeaux. Although it might prove useful to know at some point what he had said to Athos and Treville and compare it to what he said to her once she cornered him. Few people at court knew she had any connection to Treville or the Musketeers, and once the Cardinal died the only person who knew of her marriage to Athos was gone. And if she was to remain separated from him now, no one would know. She was reasonably sure, anyway. But Athos looked so handsome—he had a new black doublet with something embossed on the shoulders. She longed to get closer and inspect him.

“What do you have to say to that, Milady?” Garmeaux asked.

She hadn’t been listening. If she meant to help Athos, she would have to stop allowing him to distract her. Not that she had ever experienced any sort of luck with that. “I have nothing particular to add,” she said dryly. “But I would very much enjoy hearing what the Minister of War has to say about the Spanish troops currently massing in the Low Countries, not even five miles from our border.”

She had spoken loudly enough to get Treville’s attention. He looked more angry than surprised. He had likely been later getting to this gathering because he was busy listening to long, formal reports instead of gossip and informant reports.

Beside her, Louis huffed noisily. “Milady, how on earth do you know that? I only heard about it myself two hours ago, and I’ve spoken with almost no one about it. Including my Minister of War, who I didn’t even know was back in Paris.”

“I just returned, your majesty,” said Treville. “After becoming appraised of the current situation, I hurried here to see your majesty and find out what you might wish for me to do.”

“How about if you find out how random women who aren’t at court,” Louis slurred, “properly at court, anyway, know what is happening in this war as soon as I know it. There must be someone in my court speaking out of turn, and I must know who.”

Anne had to think quickly. Letting Louis believe there was someone at court he couldn’t trust could be useful when she decided to ruin Garmeaux’s life. However, she didn’t want to possibly attract notice to his guards, who had given her this bit of news after she’d flashed her brightest smile. That fact also made her look less useful, so she lied. Well, stretched the truth. She had other sources, even if it wasn’t for this.

“Do not waste the time and effort, your majesty,” she said. “There is a great deal of information to be had that does not come from your court. The fact that I can access that information is precisely why I believe I can be helpful to you.”

“Tell me this instant who told you about the Spanish troops,” Louis complained, complete with a stomp of his foot.

“May I suggest, your majesty,” she said, sliding closer to him, “that allowing information to flow to me might be to your benefit. But it will be decidedly less so if everyone at court knows.”

Louis shook his head. “I dislike all this secrecy.”

Milady rested the tips of her fingers on his forearm. “I will gladly tell you anything you wish to know. Privately.”

“I think his Minister of War might be allowed into your secrets,” Treville said. He stalked over to them now, Athos at his heels. “There is no reason for you to disturb his majesty. My job is to sift this sort of information so as not to misuse his valuable time.”

Louis rested his hand over hers on his arm. She had won, and she knew it before Louis even opened his mouth. “I do not believe a private conversation with Milady will be a misuse of my time. I am still capable of deciding things for myself.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Treville bowed.

“And I would be pleased to hear what…Milady has to say about what she knows,” Athos said, his voice quiet and precise in a way that always made her nervous. “Most likely your Musketeers will act on her intelligence, so why not have her report directly to me?”

“Captain!” said Louis. “You have escaped!”

Anne bit her tongue while Athos nodded. “I apologize that our original mission has not yet been completed, though. I have every hope Milady could prove helpful to that end.”

“Perhaps,” Louis said, lightening his touch on her hand.

But she gripped Louis’s hand before he could take it away. “This is so flattering, all of you fighting over me like this. But I have much to say that I only feel comfortable telling his majesty. I’m sure you understand my reticence. Information in a time of war can make the difference between life and death.”

Louis returned the pressure on her hand. “Well said, Milady. Now, Treville, Captain, while I am quite pleased to have you both back in Paris, looking so well, I shall hear Milady’s offer and get back to you both.” Louis paused as a servant entered and nodded, indicating supper was ready. “I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow. You both must still require rest. For now I am going into supper. Milady,” he paused to smile at her. “Would you please join me? I can’t imagine that we can’t squeeze in one more at my table.”

“Your majesty, I would love that above all things.” She favored him with an even brighter smile than she had used on his guards. He, of course, favored her with one of his ridiculous, toothy grins.

“Then let us go in. Gentlemen.” He nodded to Treville and Athos and turned for the door, Anne’s arm entwined with his own. When they reached the entry to the dining room, she glanced back. Athos and Treville still stood in the middle of the room. They watched her go as they whispered to each other. When Treville threw an arm around Athos’s shoulders and steered him toward the entrance at the other end of the room, her heart broke. She wanted to be going with them. Longed to feel Athos’s arms around her. Even, perhaps, Treville’s touch as well. But Treville would never succeed as minister, and thereby keep Athos safe, if she didn’t do something dramatic. Having Louis’s ear would mean more to the both of them than her company. Besides, she was still furious with Treville, wasn’t she?

“It’s very nice to have you back,” Louis whispered in her ear, his lips so close they fluttered her hair.

Athos and Treville walked through their door, and Louis led her through theirs. She couldn’t go back. Not even now that she had seen Athos’s new doublet up close. Forget-me-nots. That’s what was embossed on the shoulders. Forget-me-nots. Wetting her lips and parting them in not precisely a smile, hoping she didn’t sob, she said, “And a pleasure to be back, I assure you.”


	25. Chapter 25

How could she? Athos couldn’t understand what had gotten into Anne, to turn her back on him and return to the king. He could still see them in his mind from the time when she had returned to Paris, flirting and behaving like lovers. It had hurt in a way nothing else ever had, and he couldn’t believe that he was about to live through it a second time. Yet, now she was gone, mistress to the king once more.

“I’m sorry,” Treville whispered as they walked down a long hallway, Athos knew not where. “We must assume she has some plan.”

“What plan could she possibly have that includes….” Athos could not finish speaking the thought aloud. “And without warning.”

“We must carry on as best we can.” Treville squeezed his shoulder, but Athos saw the gesture from the corner of his eye more than he felt it. He’d gone numb, shocked that Anne could do such a thing.

“Minister! Captain!” a voice called from behind them. They stopped and Treville turned them around to see Romilly trotting down the hall after them. He had appeared anxious to talk with Treville when they had been in the reception room, but Athos wondered what else the chevalier had to say tonight other than that he was glad to see them both back in Paris in good health.

“Are you not going to be late for supper?” Treville asked when Romilly neared them. “The king does not appreciate people wandering in and out at supper.”

Romilly allowed a relaxed grin to spread across his face. “Yes. His majesty does not take that particularly well. And yet, I really would like to speak with you briefly tonight and brave the king's displeasure. Especially since I’ve just heard Lefévre is here looking for you as well.”

Athos watched Treville raise an eyebrow. It wasn’t his natural gesture, but Athos doubted anyone who didn’t know him well would discern that. If Athos had been asked to predict Treville’s reaction to this news, he would have guessed annoyed. So why didn’t Treville want Romilly to know he was annoyed? Good manners or something deeper? “And what does he want?”

“To let you know about his new investors, all of whom, Lefévre claims, have paid money and will get arms first before the crown.”

“And who are these investors?” Treville asked.

“Well, for one, I heard the name Garmeaux.”

Athos fought to maintain a blank expression. Treville, sneering, posed the very question Athos longed to hear answered. “Which Garmeaux? Father or son?”

Romilly shrugged. “It’s hard to know. The comte has all the money, though. How this might conflict with his position on the council, however….”

None of them required Romilly to complete the thought. Buying up the weapons the king needed for the war while simultaneously sitting on the council would permit Garmeaux to sabotage the entire war effort.

Treville’s next question, however, surprised Athos. “Do you by any chance know who slipped an anonymous letter under my office door the night we first heard of the captain’s capture?”

Romilly started, but composed himself with reasonable speed to ask, “Letter? What did it contain?”

“Information about some Ministry contacts. I just thought you might know.” Treville smiled and gave Romilly a nod. “Thank you for the warning about Lefévre—both what he’s up to and that he’s in the building.”

“Certainly, minister,” Romilly said with a bow. “It really is good to see you both well and returned to Paris. France’s defense is in decidedly more capable hands now.” After a more formal bow, the chevalier turned and headed back toward the reception room and a late supper.

“Interesting,” Treville said, returning his hand to Athos’s shoulder and steering him once more in the direction they had been heading before Romilly had stopped them.

“Which part?” Athos asked, still feeling miserable about Anne’s betrayal, but knowing from long experience how to carry on with his duty in the face of that.

“All of it, but I—Ah! Here comes Lefévre.”

Athos turned his attention down the hallway and spotted Lefévre, head of the blacksmiths of Paris, walking determinedly toward them. In the flickering candlelight lining the walls, Athos could swear he could see the man smirking at twenty feet.

“I just stopped by your office to leave a note since I heard you had returned to Paris and could find you nowhere else,” Lefévre said. “We need to talk about the cannon you ordered. And how you plan to pay for them.”

“We discussed this already,” Treville said as though he had not just spoken with Romilly on this subject.

“Yes, but circumstances have changed in your absence.” Lefévre said the words slowly, turning his gaze from Treville to Athos. “Good to see you again, captain. How fortunate the two of you returned at the same moment.”

“A delightful coincidence,” Treville said, with a bit of a growl entering his voice. “I’m assuming everything you need to say is in your note and I can respond to it when I have the time.”

“The brief note I left you is merely a request for a meeting in the near future. Are you free now?”

“I have a great deal to catch up on, and it is already late for a man still convalescing. But I assure you I will give your request the attention it deserves.”

Lefévre wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps you should invite the captain as well. Artillery, captain, it is the future. If you think your muskets changed war, firepower will only continue to grow in domination. It’s best the French figure that out before the Spanish teach us the lesson.”

“And what do you know of what the Spanish might be able to teach us?” Treville asked, his eyes narrowed in a way that had made more than one grown Musketeer blanch.

But Lefévre was as hard to crack as the metal he worked. He smirked at Treville, and took a step back before saying in a cheerful voice, “Goodnight, gentlemen. I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow, minister. And please, bring the captain. I do want to make certain he is properly armed to face the enemy.”

Athos wanted to follow him, perhaps beat him senseless and ask him how much Garmeaux was paying him to thwart France’s war effort. Yes, he would be in part taking his rage for Anne out on Lefévre, but the blacksmith was hardly undeserving with his smirks and threats and investors. But Treville hooked their arms together and dragged Athos the rest of the way to his office. Once Treville had the door unlocked and the two of them inside, he picked up what must be Lefévre’s note from the floor and relocked the door.

The moonlight coming through the windows behind Treville’s desk provided light for Treville to find his way to a candle and a lamp. “So, do you want to come tomorrow morning?” Treville asked as he went about his business. “I can’t wait to hear what Lefévre has to say about his investors, and to see if he’ll admit to one of them being Garmeaux. But I didn’t want him to see me too eager tonight. Do you think that was right?”

Athos had already lost interest in the discussion. He’d thought he could concentrate to see his way to do his duty, but he could only think of Anne and finding his way to the sideboard. He poured himself a glass of wine and drained it. It tasted…not right, but familiar, and he needed something he understood. He poured another and did the same. His third glass failed to make it to his lips, Treville’s hand on his arm stopping him.

“Not this, Athos. Not tonight.”

“Yes,” Athos spat out, grabbing the glass with his other hand and dumping the wine down his throat. “Yes, this. Yes, tonight.”

Treville forced the glass from Athos’s hand and spun him around so they were facing, but that didn’t mean Athos had to look him in the eye. “You still have me,” Treville said in a hoarse whisper. “I know you had hopes for Anne, but—“

Athos tried to pull away, but Treville’s grip on his upper arms was too strong. “I don’t care about her. Just let me go.”

Of course, Athos cared more about Anne than anything else at the moment. How many times could two people be on the verge of happiness, a life together, only to have it ripped away? Because he couldn’t stand it again. Every time she was torn from his life, either by his pride or her stubbornness, a little more of him was pulled away. He already bore so many deep scars, bits of himself he would never get back, he couldn’t live if much more of him came off in bloody chunks.

Treville wrapped Athos so tightly in his arms, there was no point in resisting, so Athos went limp. At first, he did so to prove to Treville just how much he truly did not care about anything. But as Treville pressed soft kisses to his temple, Athos found himself sagging into Treville, relying on the grip to hold him upright. Soon Athos slipped his own arms around Treville’s waist and squeezed. “Oh, God. What am I going to do?”

Treville pressed a firmer kiss to Athos’s cheek before whispering in his ear, “What you’ve always done. Let me take care of you.”

And then Treville’s kisses landed all over Athos’s head, his face, and his neck. He stifled a sob and let himself relax into the familiar feeling of Treville’s love. For seven years, this had been his constant. Whenever he needed affection—who was he fooling, when he needed put back together—it had been Treville’s deft hands and strong arms, his lips with their kisses and encouraging words, that had seen him through. Treville was one of the few right things in his miserable life.

Athos lifted his head so he could finally see Treville. Even in the soft light of the candle, oil lamp, and moon, Athos could see the blue eyes piercing him. They worked their way into his soul and asked what he needed, the implied offer that they would do anything he asked. Athos kissed Treville hard on the mouth.

The response, as always with Treville, was immediate. Gripping the back of Athos’s head, Treville spun him around, pushing him back until he hit the wall next to the sideboard. Treville’s entire body pressed against Athos, trapping him where he stood trembling. The security of Treville’s presence calmed the churning of Athos’s stomach and sped up the beating of his heart. Treville groaned into Athos’s mouth as he pressed his erection against Athos’s thigh. “Let me take care of you,” Treville said. “My bedroom is just through that door.”

He nodded his head at a blank wall, but Athos only squinted, confused. “What door?”

Treville chuckled while he continued kissing Athos. “That’s right. You don’t yet know about my secret passage.” He put out the lamp and blew out the candle. “Come. Let me show you.”

Leading Athos by the hand, Treville took him to a spot next to some bookshelves and reached behind the mounted sword, revealing a hidden door. It reminded him so strongly of the secret cabinet in the Cardinal’s office where he and Anne had so recently kissed he wanted to turn and leave rather than step through the door. But Treville would not let him get away—Treville never did when Athos was like this, so needy and lost.

Of course, Athos soon realized this was nothing like the Cardinal’s cabinet. This was a passage to a narrow stairway. Treville closed the door, leaving them in complete darkness. But he held Athos tightly to him, and whispered, “I love you, Athos. And I always will, no matter what happens.”

Here in the dark, Athos could let fall the tears that had been forming for so long in his eyes. He hugged Treville hard, wondering how long he could hold the man who was once more his savior before he left bruises. “I thought,” Athos began, but he had to stop and swallow and clear his throat several times. “I thought it was going to be different this time.”

Treville’s soft, wet lips met Athos’s, but only for a moment. “So did I. But we have always found our way together before and we will again now. Let’s get upstairs.” Treville kissed him once more, this time deeply and slowly while his hands wandered Athos’s body—down his shoulders, across his back, around his waist. “I want my skin on yours. I need to feel you solid and safe. Next to me in my bed. Just in case you thought this was all about you.”

Athos smiled and brushed his mouth against Treville’s. “Yes. I think I need that, too.”

Treville pulled Athos close to his side, his hand around Athos’s waist still searching, his lips occasionally finding Athos’s shoulder. His eyes ached from crying and his cock throbbed with want. As much as Athos wanted to return Treville’s touches and kisses now, his desire to be naked, receiving the full comfort he needed, kept his urges in check. And he was rewarded when they reached the top of the stairs and the door leading to Treville’s rooms moments later.

Athos closed the door behind them, once more wondering how the passage was so well concealed he’d not noticed it when he’d been here before, most recently with Anne. In the meantime, Treville lit several candles, illuminating the path to his bedroom. He returned to Athos, still standing by the door, when he finished. Treville put his hands on either side of Athos’s face and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

There was no hesitation now. Athos immediately began tearing at Treville’s clothes, longing for the feeling of Treville’s skin as much as Treville had said he wanted the same. Anne loved to be naked, flesh touching the entire length of her body. He paused and took a step back.

“No you don’t,” Treville growled. “You will not disappear into your own mind. Stay with me here, Athos.” Treville, even more deftly than Athos ever managed, had Athos’s belts off and on the floor. He reached down Athos’s pants, into his underclothes, and found Athos’s hard cock. “Yes,” Treville said, with a gentle squeeze. “Stay here. There’s nothing else tonight but us.”

Athos groaned, always compliant under Treville’s touch, and returned to removing Treville’s clothes and his own. Slowly as they stripped, they made their way closer to the bed, a step closer for each jacket, doublet, and scarf.

And then they reached the bed, naked as they both had longed to be. Athos loved Treville’s rough, scarred body, a strong reassuring presence in his uncertain life. His hands refused to stop anywhere, touching Treville’s chest, arms, back.

Treville, on the other hand, knew precisely where he wanted to touch Athos, taking his cock firmly in his callused grip. Athos bit Treville’s lips, licked his neck, and longed to push harder against his body. But Treville took his hand away and stepped back. “On the bed,” he said to Athos, turning to the bedside table.

Athos would never disobey Treville, in the bedroom or out of it, but he couldn’t stand not to touch him, so as he crawled onto the bed, he stretched his arm out, his fingers running up and down Treville’s still strong thigh. He heard something clink and when Treville laid down next to him a moment later and took Athos’s cock back up in slick fingers, Athos realized it must have been the oil bottle.

“You’ll always have me,” Treville said. “Don’t forget that, Athos. Never.”

Athos leaned his head forward and kissed Treville. “I won’t. I’m sorry if it looked like I had.”

“It’s alright.” Treville shifted closer. “We all need a reminder sometimes.”

Treville now added his own cock to the hand holding Athos and began working them both. Their mouths were pressed together, their chests heaving against the other, legs entwined right down to their feet. And now with their cocks touching, all of their flesh had come together. Athos tingled from one end of his body to the other. Felt Treville all across his body, knowing whatever else happened this safe harbor was always his. This love would not pull him apart. This love was what held the last vestiges of him together.

“I remember,” Athos panted through Treville’s lips. “I remember now. I remember.”

Treville’s hand worked them both fast, and Athos tried to kiss him, but he trembled and panted too violently to do so with any finesse. His ecstasy was already close. Treville had always known how to touch him, to make him feel what he needed to feel instead of constant despair. Athos whimpered and Treville’s free hand threaded itself forcefully through Athos’s hair. Treville yanked his head back and sucked at his exposed throat.

“Oh, God, Athos.” Treville was panting against Athos’s neck, still trying to suck and bite, but now he shook almost as much as Athos did. Only his hand continued uninterrupted, so expertly holding them together, the feel of the soft skin of their cocks against the other the most extraordinary sensation of all. “Oh God.”

As soon as Athos felt Treville’s spend on his own cock, he was coming, too. With long, meaningful strokes, Treville pulled them through their orgasms. Athos wanted to cry and laugh and hold Treville against him for a year. It was all too much and exactly what he had needed. Just when he had threatened to fall completely apart again, Treville held him close and kept him together.

But even with this comfort, when he finished spending, and when he could think coherently again, he thought of her. Anne. As certain as he was that Treville would always be there for him, even when Athos treated him so shabbily he didn’t deserve it, he also knew he would never be over Anne. “Until we are both dead,” she had said. And she was right. He loved Treville and he would be lost without him, but he would never know peace. He wrapped his arms around Treville and buried his head in the familiar, solid chest.

***

Treville had known he missed Athos. He had missed him before when Athos had been gone on missions, and this certainly had not been the first time Treville had feared for Athos’s life. But until he had gotten Athos alone and in his arms, Treville had lacked understanding. He had sent Athos off, believing they may not only be able to work out a long-term relationship, but to improve upon it and offer Athos the peace he craved that Treville alone could not provide. And then he had thought he would never touch Athos again. So to have him here, so close and warm, meant more to Treville than he could have predicted.

So why did he want to risk ruining it all now as they lay safe in his bed, relaxed and spent, and if not happy, at least temporarily unburdened? Because if she really had left Athos and returned to the king, Anne would use what had happened between them as a weapon. Treville had watched her hurt Athos over and over. He would not be the means of allowing her to do it again when it was in his power to spare Athos her particular brand of agony. She might well save the information for the moment it would inflict maximum pain. Treville would make it as easy as possible, not that it would be easy. And not that it did not threaten to end his relationship with Athos forever.

Treville brushed Athos’s sweaty hair from his face and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, Athos. I’ve missed you so much.”

Athos moved his face a fraction so he could kiss Treville’s chest. “I love you, too. Even though I do not deserve you.”

“You know I wish you wouldn’t say that.” Athos’s difficulty accepting love had long been their most frequent argument. But Treville did not want to have it again tonight. He needed to come clean with Athos. It was something he should have done before bringing Athos to bed, no matter how much Athos had clearly needed what Treville had just done for him. Athos also could stand to be held in peace all night and Treville was about to shatter that. “I need to tell you something. It’s going to upset you, but it can’t wait. I should have told you already. Although, you might already know, but I don’t think you do.”

Athos rolled off Treville’s chest and propped himself up on a pillow, still on his side staring at Treville. “Do you have any wine?”

Treville reached to a low shelf in his bedside table and pulled out a decanter and two glasses. It was the least he could do. Once poured and passed out, Treville sighed. Studying his glass, he asked, “Did Anne say anything to you about what happened in Paris after you left?”

“She just ranted about the information you gave her and blamed you for what happened to me. Nothing she did not also say to your face.”

Treville drank and then took a deep breath. “Something happened between us.”

“Happened? What does that mean?”

Get it over with, Treville pushed himself, even though he had never wanted to do anything less. “We had sex. We slept together in this very bed. We were both out of our minds when we heard you had been taken prisoner and the king refused to do anything.” Treville knew he should be looking at Athos instead of behaving like a man without a shred of honor left to his name, but he could not watch himself hurt Athos. “We found comfort and strength in each other, and when she left here, although we didn’t discuss it, I had the impression that when you both returned, all of us….” Treville paused to steel himself and hurried on. “I thought we would have what you wanted, what you had asked for and I had refused. And I found myself wanting it more than I had wanted anything in a very long time. It seems, though, that Anne does not desire that at all.”

He hadn’t noticed the tears forming in his eyes as he spoke. They only came to his notice as they fell down his cheeks. With a swift wipe of his fist, he attempted to get rid of them. “I’m so sorry, Athos. It was a complete betrayal of you as my friend, not to mention as my lover, but also as an honorable man who wished to repair his marriage.”

Over the past seven years, Treville could not have begun to count the number of times he had removed a glass of wine from Athos’s hand so that he might take Athos in his arms. Including this moment, Treville could count the number of times it had happened in reverse—one. But Athos set their glasses down and then wrapped himself tightly around Treville. How this night had gone from Treville comforting Athos on losing his wife to Athos murmuring kind words in Treville’s ear because Treville had also lost Anne was a blur to Treville.

“I found myself hoping while I was gone, even before I was taken prisoner, that you and Anne would look after each other,” Athos said. “I thought something might have passed between you in the closet when you said goodbye to me. And that made me believe it might be different when I returned.”

They held each other, not speaking for a long while. Treville was growing cold, in spite of having Athos pressed against him. The time had come for them to dress and sleep. Athos should probably return to the garrison for any number of reasons. Treville kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry, Athos.”

“For what? You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“Even if it is what you wanted, I should have never slept with your wife without speaking with you. And I’m sorry for you. I know how much it hurts you to see her with the king. I really think it might be some plan of hers. You shouldn’t despair of her coming back to you.”

Athos, understanding that the night was coming to an end, and Treville guessed, not wanting to discuss Anne, climbed out of bed and started dressing. “I’ve no doubt it’s part of a plan. She had no genuine affection for the king. What is painful is that out of all the possibilities before us, that is the one she chose without any discussion with me. And if you know how much it pains me, so does she, and yet she did so without a word to me.”

“But you will forgive her?’’

Athos stopped buttoning his pants and remained still while he contemplated. “I will never be rid of her. I don’t know.”

Treville got up so he could kiss Athos’s temple. “I will always be here.”

Athos nodded, but did not speak again. He simply finished dressing and left.


	26. Chapter 26

Supper had gone well. After supper, well, that was going to be her test, wasn’t it? But Anne had decided her course, and she would stick to it. Because that’s what she did. Because of Athos.

Louis led her into familiar rooms, virtually unchanged since she had last been here. It had only been a few weeks, so it shouldn’t be surprising. And yet, so much had occurred in that time, it felt like eons had passed in the interim. As if to prove the true passage of time, Louis did what he often did after supper—flopped unceremoniously on a settee with his leg dangling over the edge. Reflexively, she pasted on her best broad, fake smile, just as she had always done in these moments.

“Wine?” she asked him, even though that was pretty much the last thing he needed. She’d lost track of just how many times his glass had been refilled to the brim during the meal. And she could only guess how much he had drunk in the reception room before she arrived.

“The Bordeaux, I think. You do remember which it is?”

“I do, your majesty. May I perform any other service for you while I am up?”

“You may tell me what it is you would not say before the others that you believe so certainly will sway me in the matter of taking you into my service.” Anne handed him a glass, and he nodded at a nearby footstool, where she perched herself. “I could tell you had something important to say, and I wish to hear it.”

Anne nodded, frankly, quite grateful that he seemed interested in talking. She could remember nights that he had only paid attention to her long enough to take his pleasure. Not that he had ever been rude about it. Merely the king with rights and privileges.

Demurely she bowed her head. She had spent most of the meal devising how she could best spin her tale, only half listening to the gossip she normally would have devoured and saved for later. There were many options open to her, but she tried to focus on the end goal—helping Athos. That meant convincing Louis to take her seriously as an agent for France. She could argue her case many ways, but somewhere after the fish, she had decided on her plan of attack. She ignored that it would be the most painful option. She took a deep breath and began the bloodletting. “I do not enjoy speaking of my past, your majesty. But given our meeting, you cannot be wholly unaware of the fact that I have not always been able to live honorably. I hope that I have made some measure of atonement for my sins by using the skills and connections I learned for the good of France instead of merely in vice and sin.”

“Normally, I wish to surround myself with only people who are above reproach,” Louis said. “Rochefort was one such, and we can all see where that led.” He looked longingly into his glass, and she knew his moods well enough to know he had not finished speaking. She patiently sipped her wine. “You said,” he continued as she’d known he would, “you have already begun to atone by working for France.”

She had expected him to say more about Rochefort, but she was ready to talk about herself. Or at least as ready as she ever would be. “Yes,” she nodded, peeking up from her bowed head. “I helped Cardinal Richelieu for years.”

“The Cardinal!” said Louis wistfully. “I miss no one as much as I miss him.”

“As well you might,” she thought, but did not say. Instead she said, “I struggled mightily without him. He was a wise man who served France and your majesty more truly than anyone else.”

“And he trusted you?”

“Trust” would under no account have been the word the Cardinal would have used. But Louis needed her help. There was no harm in stretching the truth to make certain he got it. “He asked for my help on the most delicate issues he faced for four years. No one else remained in his service as long. I like to think that if he had lived, I would serve him still. And by extension, your majesty.”

Louis’s eyes were gleaming and his cheeks flushed as he leaned forward. “Do you…do you, Milady, do you think you might….” He fell back against the settee, eyes now closed, shaking his head.

“What is it, your majesty?” she said, leaning closer and resting her hand atop his. “I am yours to command.”

He opened one eye a crack. It was a ridiculous gesture, but she maintained her cool, attentive mien. “If you were the person the Cardinal turned to above all others, perhaps you are the person to help me with a delicate matter.”

She no longer liked Louis’s interest in her closeness to the Cardinal. Nothing Louis would call “delicate” could help Athos, and he was the only reason she was here. She needed to get him back on track. “In France’s war with Spain, I will do anything you deem necessary,” she said.

Louis stared at his wine glass, which he spun between his hands. If he weren’t more careful he would spill it on his silk embroidered gold doublet that cost enough to feed a family in the Court of Miracles for a couple of months, and that was even if the father drank. “But, do you think it would be a good idea to investigate the things Rochefort said? I mean, the things about the Dauphin? If anyone could uncover the truth, I bet it would be you.”

Of course, Louis could have no clue how true his words were. For not the first time, she found herself desperately wishing she could just let Aramis hang for his treason. But his inability to keep his dick in his pants had also made Athos guilty of treason after the fact. Once more, her choices would be dictated by the need to hide what Aramis and the queen had so thoughtlessly done. While she and Richelieu had been trying to kill the queen. Perhaps it was also in her own best interest no one ever again looked too closely into what had happened on the queen’s visit to Bourbon-les-eaux.

“Do you recall a few moments ago when I spoke of my past?” she began, willing to open herself far more than she wanted since she saw no other way.

“Of course. There is no problem with my memory.”

She hurried on, hoping her story would soothe his worsening mood. And prove worth the misery she was about to put herself through. “My mother was a good woman. No better woman has ever lived. She believed that her goodness could reform my father, who…did not always behave honorably.”

In point of fact, her ridiculously naive mother, the younger daughter of a respectable family, had been seduced by Anne’s conman father and tricked into marrying him. Once her mother had learned the truth, she had not been angry or resentful of her new husband. No, she had set out to save him. Occasionally, she would succeed for a time. But eventually they would need money because her mother could only sew so fast and her father drank in a manner painfully similar to Athos. And at that point, her father would con someone or just pick a pocket. He taught Anne how to do the same, but while her mother lived, she tried to obey the sweet women, even though from an early age Anne saw the world cynically.

“When my mother died when I was nine, my father had no check on his bad behavior. And I like to blame my age, but the fact is, I helped him behave dishonorably.”

Another way to put it would be to say it didn’t take Anne long to realize they ate better when she helped. (Her specialty was crying to distract tradesmen and travelers while her father emptied the backs of their wagons.) However, she thought the fact she’d considered herself lucky to go hungry only three days out of seven was a bit too much for Louis, so she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she called on what had worked so well in her childhood with the men she and her father had stolen from—she cried. “I was so ashamed, but what could I do? When he died when I was thirteen, my situation grew even worse.”

That was when Sarazin had taken her in. He’d been a “colleague” of her father’s, so he offered to help her if she agreed to con and steal for him. Her only other offer had come from another “friend” of her father’s. In spite of what he had said about her being a “barmaid,” she well knew the kind of house he ran. At thirteen, stealing seemed eminently preferable to whoring. But again, these were not the sorts of details Louis wanted to hear.

“I often wonder what my life would have been if I had known a father’s love. If I had been blessed with a father to look after me and teach me the difference between right and wrong.” She stopped and took his hand, squeezing it until he looked at her. “Every child deserves a father’s love. If you love the Dauphin, he is your child, and nothing can change that.”

Tears welled in the corners of Louis’s eyes and he returned the pressure on her hand. “You are right. He is _my_ son.”

She nodded, praying he would still feel this way when he sobered up. “Is there any other service I may render your majesty?”

“Return to court. I will have rooms prepared for you here in the palace so that you might always be at hand when I need you.”

Back at court. And in her own rooms, no talk of sharing his tonight or in the future. This night could not get better. “It would be an honor, sire.” Of course, she would maintain her own rooms in the city so she would have a refuge. But being at court would give her access to the people she needed to watch. She would be able to help Athos, and hopefully see him in her own hideaway. If she dared explain to him what she was doing. If he cared. If it continued to look as though Louis was only welcoming her back to court and not also his bed.


	27. Chapter 27

Treville woke up sensing that someone was in the room with him. Athos. It must be Athos. He didn’t usually spend the night because it wasn’t safe. Treville probably shouldn’t have let Anne spend the night after they had sex on his desk, despite what he said about no one caring. But they had needed each other. Just as he and Athos had needed the feel of each other’s skin to assure them they were not entirely alone.

Except Athos had returned to the garrison. As Treville came more awake, he remembered their awkward goodbye. He could see Athos walking out of his door in his mind. But that didn’t change the fact someone was in his room.

Treville opened his eyes long enough to see the black hood descend over his face.

***

“Athos!” Aramis yelled from the steps outside his office. Boots were pounding toward his door, and before Athos could get out from behind his desk, Aramis had it thrown open.

Athos took one look at Aramis’s face and picked up his sword belt. “What?”

“Treville. He’s missing. His rooms at the palace shows signs of struggle, but the door was locked. Someone has taken him, but no one even knows _how_.”

Athos was already out the door before Aramis finished speaking.

***

Anne had examined Treville’s rooms even though no one was supposed to go near them. The bed was torn apart, the decanter and glasses next to it had been knocked over and shattered. Two glasses. Athos had probably been in here with Treville last night. Could the state of the rooms be from their enthusiastic pleasure? Possibly. But neither of them would have left broken glass on the floor. And Treville’s clothes were all still hanging in the wardrobe or draped over chairs. His boots were under the dressing table. He had not left of his own accord.

Anne had then crept down the hidden stairs joining his rooms and his office. Yes, his office had already been searched, but what if he had decided to go down to his office in the middle of the night to get something to clean up the broken glass, slipped on his stocking feet, and now lay senseless in the secret passageway? Or more likely, she might find evidence of who had taken him. Everyone marveled at the mystery of his door being locked from the inside. Well, everyone else. Treville had been taken by someone who had used this passage, she was sure. When she got to the office, she walked over to the window. Closed, but unlocked.

She knew precisely who was to blame. And just as she had brought Athos home, so she would now rescue Treville.

***

Treville woke with a groan. His world was black and he felt sick. Someone punched him in the head.

***

Athos rode for the palace as fast as he could. He’d left Aramis and Porthos in charge at the garrison, and d’Artagnan was off speaking with Paget again, for what good that might do. He needed to find Anne. If anyone could find Treville, it was her. If she insisted on maintaining her grudge and refused to help, he honestly didn’t know what he would do. Poised between court and the world of crime, she knew more than anyone else in Paris. If she withheld her aid, he might beg, offer her money, anything. If she were back in the king’s good graces, she might very well help because Louis asked. And Louis would want Treville found, surely.

The palace was in chaos when Athos arrived. Who, if anyone, might be coordinating the chaos, Athos couldn’t begin to guess, but he headed for the reception room, hoping to get a better feel for the situation. And Anne might be there, or someone there might know where she could be found. He realized he had no idea where she was staying, and that if no one at court knew where he might find her, he had no clue where to look for her.

But he shouldn’t have worried. As soon as he entered the reception room, it was a near replica of the night before. Near the center of the room, Anne stood next to Louis, her hand resting on his forearm while they spoke with the Comte de la Garmeaux and Lefévre. He froze, his stomach in knots, wanting to go speak to her, but hoping even more that she would look up and catch his eye and come to him. The fact she would have to stop touching Louis to do so was a benefit he couldn’t deny.

Perhaps after all these years, she could sense him, and Anne did look in his direction. He nodded, as she coolly swiveled her face toward Louis, waited for Lefévre to finish saying something, and spoke. The king raised his eyebrows at Athos and spoke to Anne in return. With a sweet smile, she made her goodbyes to the other men. But that smile transformed into a scowl when she bestowed it upon Athos.

When she reached his side, she hissed, “You’re all a bunch of idiots.” She didn’t even bother to wait for him to reply, but walked by him out into the hall. There was nothing for Athos to do but follow.

The fact she was mad at him at this moment was too much. She had returned to the king without a word and now the man Athos loved had been taken by God only knew who, and she was the one who was upset? “I’m glad to see you so well settled once again,” he said when he matched her stride. “I would hate for you to suffer as my wife when you can be the king’s mistress again.”

She stopped and glared at him, her lips bunched as though she were ready to tear his flesh from his bones. “I’m doing this for you. But as I said, you’re an idiot.”

She took off quickly, and he was unprepared, so he had to jog to catch up to her. “So nice of you to share your plans. It’s precisely how wives typically do favors for their husbands.”

“Do you want to find Treville or not?”

“Of course, I do. Do you?”

“Follow me.”

***

If they were going to save Treville, she was not going to do this with Athos now. Yes, at some point they would probably have to, but not now. Only Treville mattered. Louis had made that clear. And, she sighed, Athos needed him.

Walking through the busy halls of the palace, they couldn’t say much, but once they pushed their way outside, she felt more comfortable telling Athos what she knew and getting him up to speed on her rescue plan. It wasn’t terribly elegant. And she didn’t fucking care.

“I assume you rode?” she asked.

“Yes. My horse is in the stable.”

“But I’m not dressed for riding,” she said, cursing this ridiculous court dress. “The Captain of the Musketeers can take a carriage from the palace, yes?”

“I suppose so. Will it help find Treville?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will do it at gunpoint if anyone objects.”

“Good. We need to get to the Chevalier Janvier’s house immediately, but it might help if we arrive not looking entirely suspicious.”

“Janvier? The scholar? What do you hope to find out from him?”

“Where Treville is. Because Janvier, or one of his students, such as the Chevalier Garmeaux, has Treville.”

***

Of course he continued to follow her to the stables, but Athos was shaking his head all the same. “So you think it is Garmeaux? But why do you think the younger Garmeaux’s old tutor would have anything to do with this? What did the Comte de la Garmeaux and Lefévre have to say for themselves this morning?”

“They both vowed to Louis to help with the war effort, and I actually believe they both mean to be less problematic, at least for a week or two. Lefévre is going to sell, at a discount, Garmeaux cannon the comte is paying for personally.”

“But if Garmeaux is going to use those cannons against France in the service of Marie de Medici, how is that good news?”

“He is not. Also, he did not leave that note for Treville, but I have a guess as to who did.”

“Why would you believe that?” Athos asked, growing ever more frustrated that she could not just say all at once what she knew, instead of making him pull each piece from her.

She spun around, and Athos ran into her, unable to stop in time. “Because he was genuinely shocked to hear Treville was missing. I saw his face when the guards sent to rouse Treville returned to say they had been forced to break down his door and no one was inside. I also saw his reaction when Lefévre arrived and said the Chevalier Garmeaux is his principal investor. He did not know. And his confusion reached its zenith when I suggested he was the one who slipped that note under Treville’s door.”

“He could be an excellent actor,” Athos said, but from what little he had seen of the comte, he did not think he was, especially not good enough to fool Anne.

“I did some more poking around this morning as well,” she said, starting up once more for the stables. “Would you like to know who was recently in Douai? Recently enough to know the innkeeper at the Swan was dead?” Athos raised his eyebrows and waited for her to answer. “Romilly.”

“But Romilly has always appeared genuine and helpful.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Idiots. He’s also an old friend of the younger Garmeaux from their time as students with Janvier.”

“You keep mentioning Janvier, but I don’t understand why you think he is what connects all of this.”

“Whoever took Treville used the secret passage between his office and his rooms. Do you know it?” she asked. Athos nodded, not thinking now was the moment to explain when and how he had learned this. “That office used to be Janvier’s.”

They entered the stable, and Athos was fully convinced of what Anne was saying. He gave one of the men on duty orders to ready a carriage for them and have it waiting outside in five minutes. He turned to Anne and asked, “We should probably be ready for a fight.”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“There are weapons in the barracks next door.” He led the way out, and once they were out of earshot of anyone, he said, “I think you’re right, but why? Why are the two chevaliers working against France? Why have they taken Treville?” Athos hesitated a few feet short of the door to the barracks’ arms room, guarded by two men, but he couldn’t expect her to answer in front of these men. So, he nodded and asked to be let in, assuring the men he would straighten everything out with their commander later. Once inside with the door closed behind them, however, he turned to her, eyebrow raised.

“Gaston,” she said as though that covered every possible question. But Athos continued to stare until she finally sighed and elaborated. “Romilly was in Douai and had to know the innkeeper was dead. Whoever slipped that note under Treville’s door had to know that. It was a clear setup. The younger Garmeaux had already left Paris, so that leaves Romilly. Their connection is Gaston. They both feel their futures under Gaston are better than under Louis. Why they took Treville….” She didn’t finish the thought, but instead accepted the dagger he held out to her. She pushed it into a sheath and attached it to her belt.

Athos staggered when she took dagger, but not because of the force she used to rip it from his hand. He remembered the Spanish woman who had been his captor and the questions she had asked. He had never thought any of the brief interrogation had been especially interesting, and had not shared much of it with Anne and Treville, but now he remembered the topic they had been discussing when the guard came down to take her upstairs to be killed by Anne. “They want Treville to back them. To give legitimacy to their cause. He’s respected and intelligent, and if they could win him over, it would help them immeasurably should they succeed in defeating Louis. The woman who interrogated me in Douai asked me where Treville’s loyalties lay, if they were firmly with Louis. I didn’t think much of it, because it’s so absurd, but that must be it. And if they can’t win him over, they might get information out of him. And even if they can’t manage that, without Treville, Louis is decidedly weaker. The real question is why didn’t they take him sooner.”

Anne nodded. “And we are agreed—we will start with Janvier?”

“Yes. But I can’t imagine he will tell us anything.”

“He will tell us _everything_.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from adjusting a second belt she’d wrapped around her waist with two pistols hanging off it. “I didn’t expect you to be so determined to save Treville’s life.”

She shrugged off his hand and then straightened his own now overly-burdened weapons belts. “He means a lot to Louis.”

Athos smacked her hands away. “Do you never change?”

She shoved him hard by the shoulders so that he stumbled backward until he ran into the wall. “Idiot. No, I don’t.” She pushed her body up against his and bit his lower lip. “I will do anything to help you. Including getting close to Louis again.” Her hands traveled between their bodies, down his chest, until one slipped around his waist and settled at the small of his back. The other pushed hard against the front of his pants. “Seven years, and even when I hated you, I never changed. I never stopped loving you.” He grew hard under her touch, and even more so under the spell of the kiss she pressed against his mouth. “I want to get on my knees, right this second, and show you how much I love you.” She squeezed and he emitted a low moan. “But we need to go save the man you love. Are you ready?”

She kissed him hard again, and he wrapped his arms around her, poking himself on her weapons, but not caring about the pain. He slipped his gloved fingers into her hair, and he wished they were bare. They had so little time, and he wished he could fully enjoy every second of it.

But then she pulled away first her mouth, then her body, and finally her hands. She frowned. “Let’s go find him.”


	28. Chapter 28

Janvier’s house was rather nice, given he lived off a pension from the king that dismissed him. But luckily for them, he appeared to only have a small staff. While Athos subdued the servant who had let them in, Anne made her way to the kitchen. Pistol drawn, she had the kitchen girl tie up and gag the cook before Anne tied the girl to a chair and shoved a dirty dishrag in her mouth. “We won’t be long and we aren’t here to hurt you,” Anne explained to the frightened, wide-eyed girl. “Stay still and quiet, and nothing bad will come to you or your master.”

She meant the first part. The second, well, she didn’t see that this girl’s compliance could possibly save Janvier from what she and Athos would have to do.

Athos raised an eyebrow when she rejoined him in the hallway. “He’s in his study,” Athos whispered with a nod down a side hall. Anne shoved her pistol back in her holster, since she had never bothered to light the fuse. Poor, ignorant servants. Instead she drew her favorite dagger and led the way down the passage.

Sunlight flowed through windows, illuminating the study and spilling out into the hall. Anne paused in the last patch of shadow and peered into the room. Janvier sat behind a large desk, leafing through a book so weighty he probably needed the flat surface to support it. She saw no one else in the room, and they had to hope no additional servants would come upon them. Time to get to work.

Anne leaned against the door frame, turning her blade so that it caught the sunlight and blinded Janvier. “My husband and I were hoping to speak with you.”

Janvier jerked upright and opened his mouth, almost as though he thought about calling for help. Men. All idiots. Athos, perhaps attempting to redeem his sex, acted quickly. He stepped around her into the study, pistol drawn, fuse lit.

“Do not bother calling for your staff,” Athos said in an even voice. “They are unharmed, but also unable to help you at the moment.”

Janvier closed his mouth, took a few deep breaths, and then sat back, resigned to this interview. “Milady de Winter, I enjoyed our last conversation enough that I can assure you I would have gladly met with you again without all of these theatricals. But perhaps your _husband_ objects to you having _tête_ _-à-_ _têtes_ with other men. I can promise you, captain, I had no idea you were her husband.”

“That should probably be your last lie,” she said, walking swiftly around his desk while Athos kept his pistol pointed at the scrawny scholar. “Although, I would dearly love to know how you and your friends found out. The list of people who have that piece of information is limited.” She stopped in front of the windows, which opened on a small private garden. She doubted anyone would be peeking over the wall, but she needed the curtain ties for other purposes, anyway. “We would like you to tell us where we can find Minister Treville. We are willing to make this as simple or as painful as you choose. But I should warn you—the captain is rather fond of the minister.”

“It is a mystery, but one we will overlook,” Athos said. To anyone but Anne (and possibly Treville), he would have sounded bored. In fact, his rage was already reaching its boiling point. “That is if you would be so kind as to tell us where Minister Treville is. And then we will be on our way.”

Janvier tried to laugh, but he was eyeing Anne warily as she walked toward him through the darkened room with the curtain ties. “I can’t imagine why you would think I know where he has been taken.”

“So, you did know he had been taken?” Athos asked with a tilt of his head.

“All of Paris knows!” Janvier answered, shrinking back from Anne.

“Let me,” she said with her sweetest smile and tightest grip on his wrist. “This is for your own safety.” She’d never understood why captors in the process of restraining their prey told such a stupid, blatant lie, but it almost always made the detained hesitate long enough to get a good grip. Anne had his left wrist lashed to the arm of his chair with a knot she had learned from rivermen smuggler friends of Sarazin’s. The panic in Janvier’s eyes only intensified as she slipped to the other side and repeated the process with his right arm.

“This is absurd!” Janvier shouted. “I’m a pensioned scholar. Why would I know anything about this?”

Anne grabbed his jaw in her right hand and squeezed. Once she had his head jerked around so they made eye contact, she smiled again, but if there were any sweetness in it, that had been an accident. “Let’s start with the fact whoever took him knows his office and its very special secret.”

He blanched all the way to his balding head.

She turned and grinned at Athos. She also tightened her grip on Janvier’s face. “He really didn’t think anyone knew about!”

Athos nodded, as though he sympathized with poor Janvier’s plight. “Well, I didn’t know until quite recently, so I can see why he would be surprised.”

“So, now that we have that cleared up,” said Anne, “I think you should tell us where to find Treville. Because I know you can’t speak like this, I’m going to let you go. But keep in mind, we expect you to answer our one simple question. Or I promise I will start hurting you in earnest.”

Janvier, who had been holding his breath, who had tensed every muscle in his body with fear when she had grabbed him, now looked more terrified that she was about to let him go. Good. “I…don’t know where he is.”

If they had not been in a hurry, if they had the luxury of days to find out what they needed from Janvier, she might have spoken more. But a threat had been made. And interrogators needed to keep their promises. It was why without discussion she had taken the lead and let Athos stand there just pointing his pistol.

Anne pressed the palm of her hand against the back of Janvier’s head and slammed his face against his desk. Janvier howled, but that must surely be more from shock than pain. His forehead had landed in the middle of his open book. She glanced at it. The text was in Latin, and there was a sketch of a classical Roman soldier. She sighed, shoved the book over the front edge of the desk to the floor, and crashed Janvier’s head onto the polished wood.

His scream this time was quite genuinely painful. While he couldn’t see straight, she spared a peek at Athos. He hadn’t perceptibly moved, but his color had changed. What did he think of her? Seeing her hurt someone. Not that he had any right. Musketeers weren’t precisely known for their gentle ways.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t understand what you said.”

“I don’t know!” Janvier cried. “I’m a simple man, living a quiet life. I read my books and tend my garden. That is all.”

“A common pensioner,” Athos sighed.

“With investments,” Anne whispered to herself. “Athos, would you mind taking over here? I’d like to take a peek at the good pensioner’s records.”

“Certainly,” Athos said, as though taking turns beating information out of a man was how they typically spent their mornings. He moved to Janvier’s other side, while Anne pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk.

Athos sighed once more as he leaned against the desk. “My fuse seems to have gone out. This pistol isn’t good for anything now. Oh, wait.”

Anne didn’t need to look up to know he must have turned it around to use as a club. Janvier squealed and shrank from Athos and toward her. But she closed the drawer she had been going through and opened another. Empty, but for old quills. Then Janvier screamed so loudly Anne wondered if they ought to gag him but for when they specifically told him to speak. She decided she would leave it up to Athos.

"Oh God! Stop! I'll tell you how I know about your marriage," Janvier offered through his quivering lips. Anne stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. "Paget. Paget told me. He was the first person into Cardinal Richelieu's office after his death before his secretaries could clean out his files. And now you will let me go, won't you? I know nothing about the Minister."

“Thank you for that bit of information," Athos said, and even to her ears he sounded put out. "But we really are far more concerned about who has Treville and where he is."

"Well put. Athos, dear,” she said, standing up straight. “Would you mind switching sides with me? I’d like to see if there is anything interesting on that side of the desk.”

“Of course,” he said with a gentlemanly bow. “I think I only bruised this arm. Perhaps I will have better luck and break the other.”

Janvier was openly weeping as Anne and Athos passed behind him. If he had seen the sick look on Athos’s face that she did, he might stop crying. At least from fear. If Athos had truly hit his arm with the butt of his pistol, even without his entire heart in it, he was in a hell of a lot of pain. She squeezed Athos’s shoulder to give him strength. It didn’t surprise her that he disliked this. She just needed him to do it anyway. In case she didn’t find what she was looking for.

“So,” Athos said as she started pulling open drawers, “I believe you were about to tell us where we might find Minister Treville. I suppose you use your right hand to write?”

“Please don’t! I beg you! Leave me one of the few solaces of my old age.”

Anne held up her hand to stay Athos’s. The drawer she had just tried to open was locked. “Key?” she asked.

“Wha…what?” Janvier stuttered.

Then, for the briefest second, he howled like nothing she had heard since Sarazin had taken her to see a man be drawn and quartered. Athos covered Janvier’s mouth with his hand as the old scholar continued to shriek. She looked at his right arm, still tied to the chair, but with an odd dogleg bend in the middle of the forearm.

She raised an eyebrow at Athos. “A bit much, don’t you think? I really do need the key.”

Athos shoved the black scarf around Janvier’s neck into the man’s mouth, then took his flint from his pocket and lit a candle on the desk. He dipped his pistol’s fuse into the flame and said, “Move.”

She stood up, and as soon as she was out of the way, he shot the drawer.

“What are you looking for?” Athos asked, as they both tried to ignore Janvier’s muffled whimpers.

Anne flicked through the various papers, parchment, and scrolls in the drawer, certain she was on the right track. “He’s not just a pensioner; he’s a property owner. He told me so when I met with him while you were gone. He owns warehouses on the Seine. What better place to take a prisoner?”

She probably should have been looking at Janvier while she spoke, to gauge his reaction. His defeated whine, however, told her that she was absolutely right. Her pace doubled, and she soon found what she wanted—a deed for riverfront property. Standing so that she was still a bit hunched, and looking him directly in the eye, she held the paper up before Janvier. “Before you answer, remember that Athos would dearly love to hit your arm in exactly the same spot.” Janvier whined, and his tears fell faster. “Is this where Treville is?”

Janvier sobbed and his head fell to his chest. It might be a nod. It might be him about to pass out from pain.

She smacked his cheek, and his eyes opened. “Is this it?”

This time his nod was unmistakable. Anne smiled at Athos. Athos sagged in relief. “See?” she said. “Wasn’t that easy?”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this! I'll do my best to get it posted tomorrow!

Treville could deal with being chained to a wall. He could even not complain about sitting on a damp stone floor, although his hip might have something to say about that. But the suffocating hood over his head was too damned much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a decent breath, and he was starting to feel nauseous. If he threw up with this thing on, he would be well and truly miserable. He was entirely too old for this sort of nonsense.

But he didn’t get any input on this particular adventure. No, he got to sit uncomfortably and occasionally get hit. In between punches to the head and kicks in the ribs, he got to wonder who the hell was doing this. No one had spoken, so he didn’t have any hints. He had no idea who his captors were, although he suspected the Chevalier de la Garmeaux. He had taken Athos and was responsible for hurting Anne, so it would figure he would also have issues with Treville.

Were they together now? Athos and Anne. Were they trying to find him? As angry as she was with him, would she forsake him at such a moment? He prayed to God not. Together, he trusted no two people more to find him. In fact, Treville would pit Athos and Anne against any other two people determined to do, well, anything. If they wanted to help each other.

Would she offer to help find him, though? He didn’t think she would ever forgive him the bad information about Douai. But if King Louis asked, would she refuse? He thought not. Whatever her motives for returning to the king, she wanted to please him. And even though his majesty had snapped at him last night, Treville knew him. The king would want him rescued, and she would strive to please the king. Treville had to cling to that.

He needed to keep thinking about anything to take his mind off his throbbing head. He tried to remember the feeling of Athos’s skin under his hands. It had been impossibly painful and perfect to touch him last night after so long apart. His skin had been warm and Treville had examined every fresh wound and scar in between the smooth stretches. Yes, he had first taken Athos to his bed all those years ago because Athos had so clearly needed him. But it hadn’t been long until Treville had needed Athos as well. Not that he had ever said as much. He needed to be there for Athos, not the other way around. Their relationship as soldier and commander was difficult enough. He couldn’t add confusion by going to Athos with his own need. Best to be exclusively the one Athos came to and never the other way around. And there had been nights Treville still couldn’t believe he had made it through, yet he had never approached Athos. He was the strong one. Dependable.

Last night had been perfect. He had needed Athos as much as he had been needed, so Athos never had to know. Treville could still be the one constant, solid presence in Athos’s life, but Treville could get the touch and affection he craved. He ached for Athos’s touch again. God, he longed for the scent of Athos, his sweat and leather and unnamable uniqueness, instead of this filthy hood. Maybe if Athos found him, saved him, Treville would just this once beg Athos for what he needed. It had been decades since Treville had allowed someone to take care of him. Perhaps he would make an exception. If he were saved.

A door opened, or so Treville thought. The bag not only blinded and suffocated him, but he could also barely hear. He definitely caught the sound of heavy boots on the stone floor, though. Two sets of boots, if he wasn’t mistaken, and they were heading for him. He hoped he was about to talk to his captors rather than just getting kicked or punched again. And he didn’t hope only so he would be saved the pain. He was getting lost in his own thoughts and needed a change to his already tedious imprisonment. Besides, he’d talked his way out of some fairly interesting spots before. Who knew what might happen if he got the chance to talk to someone who had the ability to let him go?

When the bag was yanked from Treville’s head, he blinked painfully into the daylight pouring through high windows on the wall opposite. It took a frustratingly long time to focus. And when he did, it was as Treville expected—the Chevalier de la Garmeaux, smiling down at him. However, he was not alone, as the double footsteps had indicated. Much to Treville’s disappointment, Romilly stood beside him. At least Romilly had the decency to frown.

“Garmeaux, what a completely unsurprising development. But Romilly,” Treville said with a shake of his head. “I’d really thought better of you. Although I guess every man has his price.”

“Yes. My price is merely to have my talents appreciated.” He knelt down so he could meet Treville’s eyes. He pinned Treville with his gaze, as though it genuinely mattered to him that he be understood. “Something tells me you are a man with a similar price. Certainly a man who appreciates the cost at any rate.”

Treville scoffed. When he’d believed this handsome, intelligent swordsman was better than the other vapid courtiers taking up space at court, Treville had been too kind. Sadly, Romilly was worse than most. Perhaps there had been a time between when his prospects fell through with Gaston and Janvier’s dismissals that Romilly could have been saved. What if Treville had known and made the famous fencer a Musketeer then? Would he now be saving Treville instead of conspiring with the Chevalier de la Garmeaux to hold him prisoner? He would never know. And Treville had no patience for men who needed acknowledgement to feel like a man. No, Romilly would have been a terrible Musketeer.

Treville shook his head at Romilly. “Being appreciated is for pretty ladies who are afraid they won’t find a rich husband, not a grown man with any sense of duty.”

“So, you admit Louis doesn’t appreciate you?” Romilly pressed.

Treville sighed, wondering how the world managed to churn out so many vain idiots. “I serve his majesty because it is my sacred duty. If I should be so fortunate as to feel his pleasure in my work, I consider it an honor, not a necessity, for me to continue doing what is right for France.”

“Haven’t you ever longed for a monarch who cares that it is because of you he is safe and prosperous? A man who is as competent as you are?”

Romilly was getting more and more heated with each exchange. Treville could on some level appreciate his argument. Of course it was nice to serve men worthy of your service who did not take for granted your sacrifice and hard work. He had always tried to make certain his Musketeers knew that he valued them. Within reason. No soldier needed an inflated sense of his own worth. But Romilly wanted recognition beyond that. And he probably felt cheated of advancement because of his humble origins and unfortunate connections. But that was expecting life to be fair, and only small children, the chronically disappointed, and the insane expected life to be fair.

“You realize if your price were a million livre, you’d be more likely to have it met than to find the appreciation you think your due,” Treville said. “Who lied to you and said he could pay it?”

“Enough,” Chevalier de la Garmeaux said. “Romilly, I did not bring you here to theorize with the minister.” He paused and brushed his long, blond curls from his shoulder. “Minister Treville, I apologize for the manner of getting you here, but I rather needed to have a chat with you.”

Treville couldn’t help snorting. This officious young man was so green at intimidation and interrogation. Treville could already tell he would never dirty his hands, and his ridiculous smile and sloppy practices (going back to being seen by Athos in Douai) bespoke an amateur. But amateurs got scared and did stupid things. Glancing at Romilly, Treville found himself even more afraid of this young man who trembled and always felt as though he had something to prove.

For now, Treville decided he should play along. Be polite and formal and see what he could discover while working on a plan of escape and stall for time assuming someone would be coming to rescue him. And he no longer doubted a rescue was planned. He must still be in or very near Paris. The palace, the Musketeers, and best of all, Athos and Anne, would surely be looking for him. All he had to do was not die. “Oh, I’ve had plenty of uncomfortable conversations.” Treville smiled, but it wasn’t a happy look. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The future of France.”

“My favorite subject. Any chance I might get untied and this chain removed from my neck so we can discuss this like gentlemen?”

“I think not,” Garmeaux said, pulling over a chair. Romilly still hovered nearby, his hands twitching to the hilts of the sword and _main_ - _gauche_ on his belt _._ “So,” Garmeaux said with a broad grin, crossing his lanky legs, “Louis is a terrible king, don’t you find?”

“King Louis is my sovereign lord and shall be until his death. After which,” and Treville did not hesitate, “I will support the legitimate claim of the Dauphin. So, if this is about your old schoolmate, Gaston, the Duke of Orleans, you’ve come to the wrong man.”

“I told you this was pointless,” said a male, but effeminate voice from behind a stack of crates about fifteen feet away. From behind the crates stepped the very man Treville had just invoked—Gaston, Duke of Orleans, the king’s brother.

He was supposedly far away in Lorraine, and yet here he was, as imperious as ever. The king had banished his brother, and with good reason. Gaston had always had a hunger for the throne. His being in Paris, kidnapping the Minister of War, proved that he clearly still did.

“I told you, Romilly,” said Gaston, walking up to and stopping by his henchman’s side. “I’ve known Treville since I was a small boy. He’s like a dog Louis can perpetually kick that will still return and lick his hand. He will never help us.”

Treville laughed. “Help you? Not so long as your brother draws breath. You were never destined to be king, Gaston. You should have accepted that long ago.”

“Oh, really? That is not what the Duke of Lorraine says.”

“You never were very bright. Whatever Lorraine says, you would be but his puppet should he succeed in removing Louis from the throne.” Treville stopped and looked at Romilly. “You, on the other hand, I thought you were smart enough to understand. At best you would get a pittance from a usurper who is the lapdog of another man. How does that do your talents honor?”

“Well, we tried,” Gaston said with a bored air as he straightened his gloves. “One of you should probably kill him now.”

“Kill him?” Romilly gasped. “That isn’t what we discussed at all.”

“We can’t allow him to live,” Garmeaux said out of the side of his mouth as though Treville were not sitting close enough to hear.

“Whatever,” Gaston said with a yawn. “You two can do whatever you want. I’m leaving.”

“Deserting you before he even takes power.” Treville laughed and shook his head at Romilly. “And you question King Louis’s fitness to rule.”

“Give me another chance to talk to him.” Romilly rested a hand on Gaston’s shoulder, trying to get his attention, since he had already turned in preparation to leave.

Gaston violently jumped in order to remove Romilly’s offending hand. “I don’t care what you do, but before nightfall, I will be halfway to Lorraine.”

“We were all supposed to go together,” Romilly protested.

“What was that?” Gaston asked. He froze, listening, as did Romilly and Garmeaux. Treville assumed they were straining to hear the scratching noise he had heard first when Romilly was begging for a chance to talk to Treville rather than kill him. What a group of amateurs.

“I’m leaving,” Gaston hissed quietly. “Do with him as you will, but know if you’re caught, don’t expect me to help you.”

Gaston, damn him, slipped through the door along the left, while the noise, and Treville hoped rescue, was coming from a door on the opposite wall and much farther up. If Treville was lucky, the entire garrison had the warehouse surrounded and Gaston would soon find himself in the Bastille. But Romilly, for the first time since Treville had met him, looked flustered as he pulled his sword.

Garmeaux slowly rose from his chair and looked at his accomplice. “Since you can’t actually expect to turn him at this point, kill him and let’s get out of here.”

Romilly’s handsome face had turned anguished as he shook his head at Treville, bound and on the floor. “If you won’t understand, there’s nothing else I can do.” Romilly slowly inched toward Treville.

It looked as though Treville wasn’t lucky after all.

***

Athos swore under his breath as he saw Gaston exit from a door on the other side of the warehouse. He’d sent word to the garrison for Aramis and Porthos to meet him here, but there was no possibility of them arriving for at least another fifteen minutes. And that assumed the boy he gave some coins on the street outside of Janvier’s took the message as promised.

So while Anne worked on the door lock, Athos had to watch the king’s treasonous brother jump onto a boat on the Seine, where he was greeted by Paget. But if Paget was here, where was d’Artagnan, who Athos had sent to speak with Paget hours ago when they had first learned of Treville’s disappearance? Athos would have to trust that d’Artagnan could take care of himself, making the pressing question should Athos follow Gaston and Paget? He probably should, since the duke was strictly forbidden from entering Paris and committing treason simply by being here. And God only knew what Paget had uncovered in the Cardinal’s office of far greater import than his marriage to Anne.  Athos’s duty dictated that capturing traitors took precedence over saving anyone short of the king. But at this moment, he cared nothing for duty—Athos wasn’t leaving this warehouse without Treville.

Anne looked up at him, perched atop crates where he could observe the area and who was coming and going. She nodded and stood, while he slowly slipped down as soundlessly as possible. He pulled her flush against his body and whispered directly into her ear, “Gaston just met Paget on the river. But Treville must be inside.”

“With how many men?”

Athos shrugged and Anne nodded at another pile of crates at the top of which was a window. He scurried up as best he could, the extra weapons awkward as he attempted to climb silently. Removing his hat, he peeked in the corner of the window.

There was no light inside but what came through the few high, narrow windows like the one he currently looked through. It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright sunlight. He saw nothing at first until his gaze slowly made it to the other end.

Treville sat on the floor. Athos thought he appeared chained to the wall he leaned against, but it was difficult to say for certain. Before him stood the Chevaliers de la Garmeaux and Romilly, only perhaps five feet away. The three were alone, but Romilly had his sword out, pointed at Treville.

Athos frantically gestured to the far end of the building so Anne would know where the target was. He held up two fingers and mouthed the words, “Sword drawn.” Had he been thinking clearly, Athos would have attempted to compose his features so as not to also convey to Anne precisely how frightened he felt, having seen the man he loved sitting helplessly at the point of a blade of a master swordsman.

Anne lit one of her pistols and threw open the door before Athos even had the chance to jump down from his perch.

***

“Drop your sword or you will die. Painfully.” Anne walked steadily toward Romilly, her pistol aimed at the center of his back.

Romilly glanced over his shoulder and spotted her. “Drop your pistol, or I’ll kill Treville.” He inched closer to Treville, the point of his blade brushing Treville’s skin. If she shot him, he’d likely ram the sword through Treville’s throat as his last act in this world. “I assume you want him alive when you leave here.”

“Not especially,” she said, pistol still on target. “But I would love to watch you writhe in pain for several hours. At least.”

“Go ahead and shoot him,” Treville said, his voice strong and sure. “And Garmeaux while you’re at it. Then get after Gaston. He just left.”

“On a barge with a good many rowers, a large sail, and a stiff breeze.” It was Athos. He had caught up with her and had his sword out. She allowed him to continue on directly at Romilly and she swung out to the side. “I think we should just write him off, I’m afraid. So, we can stay here indefinitely discussing who should drop what weapons.”

“I think that is unnecessary,” the Chevalier de la Garmeaux said. “You don’t actually want us. You want Gaston. Why don’t we allow you to take the minister and chase after Gaston while Romilly and I leave Paris? A satisfactory end to all of this, do not you think?”

“I saw you. In Douai,” Athos said.

The Chevalier de la Garmeaux blanched. “I didn’t want to be there. My father—“

“You father is at the palace, busily working with Lefévre to make cannon for King Louis’s war, as he disowns you,” Athos told him. “I think you’re going to have to take some responsibility for your actions. Your treasonous actions, that no, we will not forget while you leave to foment rebellion elsewhere. I can forgive a great many things. What you have done to the minister is not one of them.”

Athos. Stupid, honest Athos. She really wished he would just stop talking. Every word out of his mouth made both men they were fighting more desperate and dangerous. And they stood between them and Treville. She moved closer to the wall and trained her pistol on Garmeaux instead of Romilly. The moment his hand twitched toward his sword, she didn’t hesitate. Treville was no longer directly behind him, and she was only twenty feet away. His head exploded, rather gratifyingly.

Romilly jumped, but luckily away from Treville. Athos used his moment of distraction to run at him. In a heartbeat, they crossed swords.

Anne ran for Treville. She dropped in front of him, examining the ropes around his wrists, which she swiftly cut. The chain around his neck she didn’t know what to do with. Her fingers trembled at the collar before she could ask, “Where’s the key?”

Treville shrugged. “No idea. Maybe Garmeaux?”

She handed Treville her spare pistol and flint while she went through Garmeaux’s pockets furiously while watching Athos and Romilly. Athos had not merely been flattering Romilly that day at the palace when he said he remembered watching Romilly fence. The man was damn near as good as Athos, upright, precise, fast, his training taking over in this moment that his life depended on his abilities. And he was younger and hadn’t been injured recently. Anne had knives on her belt and she tried to find a way that she might help Athos, but they were both too fast. She would as likely hurt Athos as help him if she tried to enter the fight. The best thing she could do was continue the search to free Treville.

She found an inside pocket in Garmeaux’s doublet. It’s where she would keep a key to the chains she used to restrain a prisoner. And, apparently, even though Garmeaux had been stupid enough to believe he could hurt Athos and survive her wrath, he was smart enough in this matter. Scurrying back to Treville with the key, she shoved the key in while Athos yelped in pain.

“You aren’t as good as I remember,” Romilly panted. “Why I ever desired approval from you or Treville or any man in this ridiculous court is beyond me.”

“And you are not as clever as you believe.” Athos spoke in his most dangerous, even tones. “I do not need to best you. I merely needed to keep you occupied.”

Athos had fought Romilly in a circle so that the chevalier’s back was to Anne and Treville. She had freed Treville, and he now stood. Athos fell to the floor as if struck down. Romilly hesitated, confused, and then Treville pulled the trigger.

Romilly crumpled atop Garmeaux’s blood corpse. Treville dropped the pistol and sagged. Anne sprang to his side to steady him. When he turned to her, when he reached up and put a hand to her cheek and fixed her with those amazing, pure blue eyes, her breath caught. “Oh, God, Anne.”

She didn’t know if she leaned in or if he pulled her to him. But she did know a moment later, she was kissing him. Greedy, hungry kisses. Kisses deep and wet that she never wanted to end. When she had seen Romilly with a sword pointed at his throat, she hadn’t been thinking about her anger, nor Treville’s supposed incompetence. All she wanted was to save him. And now, with his mouth pressed to hers, she knew why she had needed to rescue him. It had nothing to do with pleasing Louis. It wasn't even just how much Athos wanted him saved. No. She had to save Treville for her own sake and his. So that she could feel his hands—his strong, knowing hands—on her body again. So she could breathe in his breath as their mouths moved against each other. So he might fuck her again. So he might fuck her and Athos together.

Anne was aware of nothing but the wetness of Treville’s mouth, the light scratch of his beard, until a hand rested on her shoulder. Yet, she did not stop. Lips pressed against the top of her head and she moaned into Treville. Another face was then next to hers, but it moved to Treville’s face. She opened her eyes and saw Athos kissing Treville’s cheek. She pulled back, panting. Athos turned and smiled at her.

Treville let her go and pulled Athos into his arms. He stroked Athos’s hair, ran hands down his back, squeezed as though afraid of never holding Athos again. “Thank you,” Treville whispered into Athos’s ear. And then turning his face so he could see her, Treville said again, “Thank you.”

When a tear spilled from her eye, Treville buried his face in Athos’s neck. She wiped furiously at her cheek and looked around lost, not certain what she might be in search of. When her gaze rested on the men again, Athos pulled back from Treville. Taking Treville’s face in his hands, Athos pulled him in for a kiss.

It was beautiful. Just as perfect as it had been that day in the closet at the palace when they were saying goodbye to Athos. There was so much love between them, and she so feared they would not have room for her in it. What could she possibly offer either of them they didn’t already have together without her? Her heart pounded. She should leave.

She was on the verge of running out when Treville’s hand released its grip on Athos’s shoulder to take her hand. He pulled gently, and pressed her to their sides. “Anne,” was all he said before he kissed her. Before she could think what Athos made of this, he had his lips—his perfect, glorious lips—sucking her neck. She wanted to cry out again, and unable to stop herself, she whimpered helplessly into Treville’s mouth. He pulled her close, and changed his deep kisses to soft, light ones.

“Let’s get out of here,” Treville said. “And go somewhere I can get you both naked.”


	30. Chapter 30

Of course, they couldn’t run off and strip. Treason had been afoot, and the men who had kidnapped him now lay dead on the floor. So, Treville sighed and straightened himself up when he heard Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan, and what sounded like half the garrison, show up at the warehouse. Athos took charge, sending Porthos and some new recruits off to see if they could catch up with Gaston and Paget. D’Artagnan swore, although Treville didn’t know why. Then once Aramis finished praying over the Chevaliers Romilly and de la Garmeaux, he insisted on examining Athos, who assured him he’d taken no new injuries, just aggravated existing ones, and set him to check Treville. With a grimace, Treville agreed to be looked over, and Aramis soon announced everyone well. All the while, Anne hid herself in the shadows of the corner.

But Athos was efficient, and it made Treville smile, pleased with his choice of new Captain. Athos was also slowly learning to delegate. In not too many minutes, Athos had left Aramis and d’Artagnan in charge of the warehouse while Duval went to bring someone back from the city morgue and another group of men were sent to arrest Janvier. Athos whispered something additional into Aramis’s ear, which made the latter smile.

“Let’s go,” Athos said in low tones only Treville and Anne, still lingering behind him, would hear.

“Where to?” Treville asked with a raised eyebrow. He knew all the minute variations of Athos’s voice, and he had some sort of plan, Treville well knew.

“What are your rooms like?” Athos asked Anne, who had moved to Treville’s side.

“My rooms? Actually, I’m supposed to be moving into new rooms at the palace this afternoon.”

“You wouldn’t,” Athos answered, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

But Anne shrugged. “I hadn’t decided. But I’ve no intention of giving up the rooms I already have in the city. They’re only a few blocks from here.”

Athos led them to a palace carriage outside and had Anne provide the driver with the address. Treville enjoyed the ride more than his companions. He ran his hands over both of them and kissed their faces, hands, and necks. All the while, they bickered over whether Anne should accept the king’s invitation to live at court, and if so, on what terms. When the argument threatened to get out of hand, Treville stopped sucking on the hollow of Athos’s throat to offer the obvious solution.

“Clearly, you need to tell the king you are married, happily, to Athos.”

“Then why isn’t she living at the garrison with me?” Athos asked.

“Because women aren’t permitted to live at the garrison,” answered Anne.

“Constance lives at the garrison.”

“Louis doesn’t know that.”

And so the two of them kissed while Treville leaned back, ignoring his aching ribs, and enjoyed the sight. Having Anne at the palace would be incredibly convenient. Athos could be there to see her at any hour. And Treville needing to speak with the Captain of the Musketeers and his wife, who happened to be a vital part of the king’s intelligence apparatus, would draw no notice. They could be together as often as their duties permitted.

For privacy’s sake, Athos had been right to suggest Anne’s rooms today. When they walked into the bedroom and Treville saw that she also had the biggest bed of the three of them, he was further pleased. She turned and grinned at him before pressing a kiss to his lips. “These rooms were meant for a family. I chose them because I needed the extra space for my clothes, but the bed is a nice bonus.”

Treville pulled her into a hard kiss and started tearing at the buttons and hooks holding up her dress. “Never get rid of these rooms,” he panted between kisses.

Athos soon joined them, and time and action blurred. Treville’s mouth was on Anne’s and then Athos’s neck and then Anne’s back. All the while hands stripped him, which was easy enough with his few clothes, even though Aramis had loaned him a cloak. And Treville pulled at laces, yanked buttons completely off cloth, and pulled until he found flesh under his fingers. They stumbled across the room, and finally Treville found himself released as Athos and Anne fell onto the bed together.

They twisted in each other’s arms until Athos lay stretched out on his back with his head on the pillow. Anne, between his legs, flipped over and reclined against her husband. They both smiled at Treville.

“Are you going to join us down here?” Anne asked, her eyebrow cocked.

“We’d be more than happy to have you.” Athos said this while looking directly at Treville, all the time his hands roving up and down Anne’s body, across her white stomach and over her soft breasts. Coupled with the obscene way she shifted between Athos’s thighs, Treville was almost tempted to say no, he rather enjoyed the view from where he stood.

But before Treville could answer or move, Athos added, “You’ve been through a great deal. Let us take care of you.” At that, Athos’s hands dropped down to Anne’s thighs and pushed them apart. His left then slid up her leg and dipped inside her. She moaned and wiggled before Athos returned his hand to her thigh and opened her legs even farther in clear invitation.

Treville knelt on the foot of the bed. Anne held her arms out to him. Ever since he had found them at the inn after she’d rescued Athos, Treville had been doing his best to convince himself that he would never be with her again. Her anger and recriminations had struck him more deeply than any blade he’d ever found himself on the wrong end of. But now she and Athos were welcoming him into their bed and their lives. All of his aches, physical and spiritual, faded as he fell into her arms and pushed inside her, Athos’s hands guiding Treville by the hips.

It felt so warm and right being inside Anne with Athos’s hands on him. Treville kissed her wetly as he thrust, Athos setting the rhythm, his steady grip still leading them. But Treville needed Athos as well. With a final nip at her glorious lower lip, Treville moved his head over her shoulder and found Athos’s mouth. His lips tasted and felt somehow even more Treville’s own because he was inside Anne as they kissed. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, forcing his kiss with Athos to deepen. Athos, who still pulled Treville inexorably into Anne.

When Treville’s mouth came free of Athos’s, he had to speak. They were saying so much with their bodies, and he loved every word, but some things needed spoken aloud. At least, he needed to say them. “I’m sorry.” He pulled back to look at Anne. “I promise to always do better. You both mean too much to me to ever risk losing either of you.”

Anne had maintained her hold on the back of his head, and she now used it to smash their faces together. After kissing him so hard it hurt, she said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blamed you like I did.”

Athos dug his fingers into Treville’s ass, forcing him deeper and faster into Anne. “I needed you both,” Treville panted between kisses with Anne. “God help me, I need you both.”

After that, Treville couldn’t speak, only focus on his rhythm and his thrusts into Anne. His mouth wandered over her shoulder to Athos’s lips, then back to her neck in a blur. He just knew he had to keep tasting them both, their skin and sweat. Athos’s grip tightened on his behind, Anne dug her nails into his back, and had it not been for their combined efforts, Treville would have never maintained his pace. As it was, he shivered, all control of his body ceded to these two, and he came inside Anne as he moaned through Athos’s wet lips.

***

Athos panted, surprised the friction of his hard cock in Anne’s cleft hadn’t sent him over the edge with Treville. It was glorious, his two loves finding love in each other with his own simple ministrations added to the mix. He tried imagining something more ideal, but in the rush of Treville’s climax, Athos’s mind was blank.

When he had woken this morning, alone and aching in his narrow bed at the garrison, he would have never imagined he would find himself in this paradise by afternoon. He had lost Anne to the king again, he’d been certain of it no matter what Treville had insisted. And Treville, yes, he still had Treville, but no longer within arm’s reach, instead far away at the palace rather than in the garrison, his to rely upon day or night. He would never have Anne again, Treville only irregularly, and the two of them together, not at all.

But Treville had just made love to Anne while Athos held her close and open her to Treville. It had been magnificent, nothing so sensual or erotic before having even entered his thoughts, let alone his bed. How could anything about this moment improve? He was back in Paris and safe. Anne was not with Louis. Treville had been rescued. And they were all together.

Treville lifted his face away from Athos so he might now kiss Anne. Athos watched, wondering if the awe of such a sight would ever lessen. And once Treville had finished kissing her, their mouths so open, tongues fighting for supremacy, Treville said, “We were only together briefly, and it wasn’t that long ago, and yet, I’d already grown to miss you.”

Anne moaned happily. “I may be forced to admit I’m rather pleased to have you inside me once again.”

Treville inside Anne. The very notion made Athos’s cock stir, and it lit another passionate desire even stronger inside him. “Anne, I want to taste you. Now. While Treville’s spend is still inside you.”

Her moan this time was lower and filthier as her fingertips pressed into his thighs. “If you will forgive me, Treville, this is something I really can’t deny him.”

Treville pressed another wet, open-mouthed kiss to Anne’s lips before pulling back. “I wouldn’t dream of stopping you. Besides, I’m thirsty. Where do you keep your wine?”

“The good stuff is in the back left of the big wardrobe. Glasses are on the counter in the other room.”

Treville laughed, and Athos felt as though he was missing a private joke between them. Perhaps he would ask later. For now, he didn’t care about jokes or wine or any other diversion invented by man. All he wanted, all he could think about, was getting his mouth on Anne.

Thankfully, Treville pulled out of her and stood. “I’ll be right back. I’d tell you to wait so that I don’t miss anything, but I think I would have a better chance of getting Porthos to stop gambling.”

Anne seemed content to watch Treville walk out of the room, and normally Athos would be equally pleased to survey Treville’s remarkable body. For all his complaints of age, Treville was still lean and muscular, his scars and calluses only enhancing his rough good looks. But Athos could see what he needed—that while Treville had some fresh bruises, his kidnapping had left no lasting harm. Treville was well, and Athos would enjoy his firm body many more times in this life, even later today, but at this precise moment, Athos must have Anne, and in a very specific manner if she would agree.

She sat up and turned, offering a hand to help him up so they might switch places. But Athos refused her hand and slid farther down the bed. Anne, being Anne, always in step with his desires, always helping him to achieve them, understood immediately. She climbed from between his legs so that he might lie flat. He then held his arms open wide to her, and she straddled his chest. After kissing him as though her true intent might be to eat him alive, she grabbed the headboard and scooted up until her cunt, dripping with her own wetness and Treville’s spend, hovered above his mouth.

Glorious, perverse woman that she was, she fought him when he tried to pull her down by her hips. Letting go of the headboard with one hand, she laced her fingers through his hair. She forced his head flat against the bed and slowly lowered herself onto his mouth.

Athos knew what Anne tasted like. Even when he had gone seven years without her, he had never forgotten her unique flavor. And in those seven years, he had learned to love the taste of Treville, his own particular saltiness like nothing else Athos had ever experienced. Lying here now, tasting these two people together, Athos thought he could spend completely untouched. No wine that had ever slid over his tongue had been so intoxicating. He wanted Treville to return to the room and spend inside Anne again and again so that he might taste nothing else for the rest of the day and night.

“Who the fuck needs a glass. I could have drunk straight from the bottle and never left the room,” said Treville. “Hell and damnation, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

“Mm,” Anne purred. “Can you even guess how good this feels?”

“Oh, I am well acquainted with Athos’s clever tongue. And while I cannot hope to compete with him on that front, I hope to do the same for you sometime soon.”

Anne’s fingers twisted more tightly in Athos’s hair, pulling his face harder against her. He licked and sucked until he could barely breathe, hoping to please her, knowing how much she would love having Treville in this same position and praying she would never stop letting him do so as well.

“You should probably, mm, save your efforts for Athos. I don’t think I will need them any time too soon,” said Anne. Athos sucked in everything dripping out of her, wanting more.

A door closed, and Athos guessed it must be the wardrobe along the wall to his left. He didn’t bother to open his eyes, since he still would have been forced to turn his head to see, and Anne’s grip on his hair would never have allowed for it. But those were unquestionably Treville’s sure steps nearing the bed.

“This wine isn’t half bad,” said Treville. “But I would be happy to put it aside if you want me to take care of Athos immediately.”

“If you’re thirsty, by all means, take your time. I’m happy to have all of his focus. But I am guessing he’s hard as steel and dripping.”

Athos knew that she was right—his cock had ached ever since they stripped off their clothes, and now he could feel the wetness on his stomach. He wanted Treville to touch him, perhaps to even put his mouth on him and use his own amazing tongue, until he came screaming. But Athos was not done with Anne, not that he thought he would ever be truly done with her.

“I will happily see to Athos in a moment. But you look thirsty, too,” Treville said from so close Athos now opened his eyes to see him. Treville was kissing Anne while he held a full wine glass. When he pulled back, Treville took a sip himself before tipping the glass to Anne’s lips. She swallowed some, but not all of the wine spilled into her mouth. No, some of it ran over her chin and down her throat, between her breasts. Treville set the glass down and began licking away the wine.

Athos found Anne’s clit and set to work with renewed vigor. He licked and sucked and licked some more; he grasped her hips and whined and wanted every part of her. And he wanted her to come while Treville touched her, before Treville bothered with him.

She pulled his face so tight against her, literally the only part of his face he could move was the tongue peeking through his lips. And he did move it, rubbing it not directly on her clit—he could tell she was too sensitive for that—but just to the side, pressing against it over and over until she could hold herself back no longer. Her fingers trembled in his hair, and Treville had to help hold her upright as she spasmed and came. The last of Treville’s spend inside her entered his mouth in waves along with her own. Athos swallowed and licked, wanting every last drop.

Treville helped Anne off him and laid her down on Athos’s right. She snuggled even as she twitched, kissing his neck. “You are endlessly amazing,” she said. “You know me like no one else.”

Athos turned his face and kissed her. “Do you want me to teach Treville?”

“Yes. And you should teach me everything you know about him,” she answered before she stuck her tongue deep in his mouth.

He was so busy kissing her, Athos barely registered the bed sinking next to him as Treville climbed in. But no amount of kissing Anne could distract him from Treville taking Athos’s cock in his mouth. Athos moaned and arched his back at the feel of Treville’s lips around him, the way the tongue swiped across the head of his cock, the way Treville’s warm hands felt caressing Athos’s thighs.

If pleasing Anne and tasting Treville at the same time had nearly overwhelmed Athos with bliss, kissing her while Treville swallowed him whole undid Athos utterly and completely. He hadn’t felt like such an inept schoolboy even when he had been a boy, but the physical sensations mingled with this true affection proved too much. Athos had never loved any two people so much, would never love anyone like this again, and here they both were, entirely focused on him. When his cock bumped against the back of Treville’s throat, and Anne’s long, cool fingers wound through his hair to pull him into a crushing kiss, there was nothing he could do.

Athos screamed into Anne’s panting, wet mouth while he spent down Treville’s throat. In the past he had moaned, even whimpered, when he came, but never before had he screamed so uncontrollably. Anne and Treville thought he might be able to teach them things about each other, but they were now teaching Athos something about himself.

***

After they had toweled off and drunk a little wine, she and Athos had insisted on putting Treville between them. He had been through so much today. And felt certain that if she could ask Athos about it, he would agree that they both needed to feel Treville’s skin against their own. She still couldn’t believe they were all safe and here. How had it even happened?

Treville had been in danger, she told herself. The moment she had arrived at the palace and heard from one of her guards that he was gone, she had been focused on nothing but getting him back. Yes, she had lied to herself and insisted she only wanted to save him for Louis and Athos’s sakes. But when she had seen him chained to that wall—

No. It was before that. The moment Athos had signaled to her that Treville was inside the warehouse with two men and a sword at his throat, she hadn’t been able to sustain the lie. If it had merely been about pleasing Louis, she would have behaved dispassionately. If she had only been there for Athos’s sake, she would have proceeded with determination and good sense. Bursting through the door like the sort of idiot she had accused others of being all morning opened her eyes to herself. She wanted to save Treville for her own sake and his. It had been an unnerving realization. That was the only explanation for why her hands had trembled when she’d first reached out and touched him.

Maybe for once in her life, she shouldn’t question how or why something had happened to her. Maybe for a change, she should enjoy a moment. She had never been able to do that. Even during her most blissful times with Athos when they had first been married, she had never truly enjoyed the good times. She had been all too aware her happiness could come crashing down at any second, just as it had.

But that wasn’t going to happen this time. Ever since her father had died, she had never had someone in her life who knew what she was and what she wanted and how she felt. Actually, she had never shared her feelings with her father. So all of her life, no one had known both her past and her hopes for the future. Not until this moment. And both of them loved her in spite of it all. Perhaps, maybe even a little, because of it all.

Anne rolled over onto her right side, and Treville pressed against her back. Her head rested on one of his arms while she clutched his other hand draped over her side. In a moment, Athos stretched across Treville and rested his hand atop theirs where they lay on her stomach.

Treville sighed. “Dare I say this is perfect?”

“I will not argue with you,” said Athos.

“Athos may not be used to arguing with you,” Anne said, “but I hope you don’t expect the same from me.”

Treville wiggled behind her and kissed just under her ear. “Are you saying this is not perfect? Do you have a suggestion for how to make it better?”

Her lips curled at the corners even though no one could see her. “I just want to point out that if this is perfect, we have peaked and it will never be better than this. And I definitely believe we can do better.”

Treville placed more wet kisses under her ear and down her neck. “I take your point. Is there something specific you have in mind?”

She had a litany of specific ideas. But where to start? Athos, as always, knew her mind. “If you desire a complete list, I should light a fire, because we will be here all winter. One thing to keep in mind about Anne—she’s endlessly imaginative and always trying to outdo herself.”

Treville hummed with approval against her earlobe.

“You make me sound as though I have no appreciation for familiar ground. I adore familiar ground. It’s where you can be most creative.”

“You are a wise woman,” Treville said.

“Please remember that,” she chuckled. “Now, would you like to know what Athos thinks of my belt?” Athos groaned, half in pleased recollection, half in mild embarrassment. Anne only grinned.

“Only if you would like to hear what he thinks of my empty holster,” said Treville.

It was Anne’s turn to moan, but in pure pleasure at the very notion. “I think we’re going to have to come up with some sort of coordinated strategy.”

“A plan of battle,” Treville whispered against her neck.

Athos squeezed their hands. “I am right here, you understand?”

“And I’ve no doubt you and Treville will devise some attack against me, which I eagerly await. And just so you know, Treville,” she said turning her face. Treville met her and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Today was only an opening sortie. Do not think Athos and I will spare you in the bedroom just because we have to follow your orders outside of it.”

“I am more than ready,” Treville said, and then kissed her once more. “Although I doubt I’ll put up much of a fight.”

“But what if that’s what we want?” Athos asked.

Treville smiled, but a happy, mischievous grin Anne had never seen before on his lips. She liked it. A lot. Nothing suited his grizzled demeanor better. “That is an entirely different matter. I’m game for whatever maneuvers the two of you might have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, I did that. And I know I thanked a bunch of people at the beginning, but let me thank a few more here.
> 
> First off, thank you storyskein for helping with the positioning in this last chapter. You will forever be my polyam go-to smut queen. ;)
> 
> Second, to everyone who read this, thank you. If there was ever a fic that exactly no one was asking for, it was this one. The fact you read at 86K words of these three is amazing to me.
> 
> And finally, to everyone who hit the kudos button, left a nice comment here or on tumblr or Twitter, bless you. Not only did you give me support, you gave me ideas that helped this become a better story.


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